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PORTRAIT. MARIA ANTOINETTE 



jfamous Cbaracters ot Dtstorp 

Maria Antoinette 

BY 
JOHN S. C. ABBOTT 

Volume XIX. 
ILLUSTRATED 



1906 
THE ST. HUBERT GUILD 

NEW YORK 



Workshops : Akron, Ohio 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Cooies Received 

AUG 8 1906 

^ Cooyriirm Entry 
CI/asS CC XXc. No 
COPY B, 



Copyright, 1906, 

BY 

The St. Hubert Guild. 



PREFACE 



In this history of Maria Antoinette it has been the 
endeavor to give a faithful narrative of facts, and, so 
far as possible, to exhibit the soul of history. A 
more mournful tragedy earth has seldom witnessed. 
And yet the lesson is full of instruction to all future 
ages. Intelligence and moral w^orth combined can 
be the only basis of national prosperity or domestic 
happiness. But the simple story itself carries with it 
its own moral, and reflections would encumber rather 
than enforce its teachings. 



(ix) 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



Chapter Page 

I. PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD 1 5 

II. BRIDAL DAYS 36 

III. MARIA ANTOINETTE ENTHRONED 65 

IV. THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 88 

V. THE MOB AT VERSAILLES Ill 

VI. THE PALACE A PRISON 1 33 

VII. THE FLIGHT 1 54 

VIII. THE RETURN TO PARIS I74 

IX. IMPRISONMENT IN THE TEMPLE 1 94 

X. EXECUTION OF THE KING 220 

XI. TRIAL AND EXECUTION OF MARIA ANTOINETTE . 2}6 

XII. THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH, THE DAUPHIN, AND THE 

PRINCESS ROYAL 247 



(xi) 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



Marie Antoinette 

Page 

PORTRAIT, MARIA ANTOINETTE .... FrOflHspUCe 

MARIA ANTOINETTE, CEREMONY OF CHANGING HER DRESS 

AT KELL BEFORE ARRIVING AT PARIS ... 44 

MARIA ANTOINETTE CONFRONTING THE MOB AT VER- 
SAILLES 123 

MARIA ANTOINETTE GOING TO HER TRIAL . . . . 24I 



(xiii) 



MARIA ANTOINETTE 



CHAPTER I. 

Parentage and Childhood. 

Maria Theresa. — She succeeds to the throne. — Success of Maria Theresa's en- 
emies. — Her flight to Hungary. — The queen's firmness. — The Hungarian 
barons.— The queen's appeal. — Enthusiasm of her subjects. — The queen 
heads her army. — She overthrows her enemies. — Character of Maria 
Theresa. — Character of her husband.— Crowning of Francis.— Maria 
Theresa's renown. — Maria Theresa's sternness.— Anecdote.— Fatal re- 
sult. — Death of Francis. — Plan of the counselors. — Birth of Maria An- 
toinette.— Maria Antoinette's character.— Affecting scene.— Maria An- 
toinette's grief.— Maria Theresa as a mother. — Mode of education.— 
Petty artifices. — Maria's proficiency in French. — She forgets her native 
tongue.— Maria's taste for music— Her ignorance of general literature, 
etc. — The French teachers.— Their characters. — The Abb6 de Vermond. 
— He shamefully abuses his trust. — Etiquette of the French court.— 
Etiquette of the Austrian court. — Precepts of the teacher.— Character of 
Maria Antoinette. — Maria a noble girl.— Her virtues and her faults. — 
Palace of Schoenbrun. — The scenes of Maria's childhood. — Personal ap- 
pearance of Maria. — Description of I,amartine.- Maria's betrothal. — Its 
motive. — Maria's feelings on leaving Schoenbrun. — Her love for her 
home. 

IN THE year 1740, Charles VI., emperor of Austria, 
died. He left a daughter twenty-three years of 
age, Maria Theresa, to inherit the crown of that 
powerful empire. She had been married about four 
years to Francis, duke of Lorraine. The day after the 
death of Charles, Maria Theresa ascended the throne. 

('5) 



1 6 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1740 

The treasury of Austria was empty. A general feel- 
ing of discontent pervaded the kingdom. ' Several 
claimants to the throne rose to dispute the succession 
with Maria; and France, Spain, Prussia, and Bavaria 
took advantage of the new reign, and of the embar- 
rassments which surrounded the youthful queen, to 
enlarge their own borders by wresting territory from 
Austria. 

The young queen, harassed by dissensions at home 
and by the combined armies of her powerful foes, 
beheld, with anguish which her proud and imperious 
spirit could hardly endure, her troops defeated and 
scattered in every direction, and the victorious armies 
of her enemies marching almost unimpeded toward 
her capital. The exulting invaders, intoxicated with 
unanticipated success, now contemplated the entire 
division of the spoil. They decided to blot Austria 
from the map of Europe, and to partition out the 
conglomerated nations composing the empire among 
the conquerors. 

Maria Theresa retired from her capital as the bay- 
onets of France and Bavaria gleamed from the hill- 
sides which environed the city. Her retreat with a 
few disheartened followers, in the gloom of night, 
was illumined by the flames of the bivouacs of hos- 
tile armies, with which the horizon seemed to be 
girdled. The invaders had possession of every strong 
post in the empire. The beleaguered city was sum- 



i74o] PARENTAGE— CHILDHOOD 17 

moned to surrender. Resistance was unavailing. All 
Europe felt that Austria was hopelessly undone. 
Maria fled from the dangers of captivity into the 
wilds of Hungary. But in this dark hour, when the 
clouds of adversity seemed to be settling in blackest 
masses over her whole realm, when hope had aban- 
doned every bosom but her own, the spirit of Maria 
remained as firm and inflexible as if victory were 
perched upon her standards, and her enemies were 
flying in dismay before her. She would not listen 
to one word of compromise. She would not admit 
the thought of surrendering one acre of the dominions 
she had inherited from her fathers. Calm, unagitated, 
and determined, she summoned around her, from 
their feudal castles, the wild and warlike barons of 
Hungary. With neighing steeds, and flaunting ban- 
ners, and steel-clad retainers, and all the paraphernalia 
of barbaric pomp, these chieftains, delighting in the 
excitements of war, gathered around the heroic queen. 
The spirit of ancient chivalry still glowed in these 
fierce hearts, and they gazed with a species of reli- 
gious homage upon the young queen, who, in distress, 
had fled to their wilds to invoke the aid of their 
strong arms. 

Maria met them in council. They assembled 
around her by thousands in all the imposing splendor 
of the garniture of war. Maria appeared before these 
stern chieftains dressed in the garb of the deepest 

M. 0fH.-1.-2. 



i8 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1740 

mourning, with the crown of her ancestors upon her 
brow, her right hand resting upon the hilt of the 
sword of the Austrian kings, and leading by her left 
hand her little daughter Maria Antoinette. The pale 
and pensive features of the queen attested the reso- 
lute soul which no disasters could subdue. Her im- 
perial spirit entranced and overawed the bold knights, 
who had ever lived in the realms of romance. Maria 
addressed the Hungarian barons in an impressive 
speech in Latin, the language then in use in the 
diets of Hungary, faithfully describing the desperate 
state of her affairs. She committed herself and her 
children to their protection, and urged them to drive 
the invaders from the land or to perish in the at- 
tempt. It was just the appeal to rouse such hearts 
to a phrensy of enthusiasm. The youth, the beauty, 
the calamities of the queen roused to the utmost 
intensity the chivalric devotion of these warlike mag- 
nates, and grasping their swords and waving them 
above their heads, they shouted simultaneously, 
"Moriamur pro rege nostro, Maria Theresa" — "Let 
us die for our king, Maria Theresa." 

Until now, the queen had preserved a demeanor 
perfectly tranquil and majestic. But this affectionate 
enthusiasm of her subjects entirely overcame her im- 
perious spirit, and she burst into a flood of tears. 
But, apparently ashamed of this exhibition of womanly 
feehng, she almost immediately regained her composure, 



i74o] PARENTAGE— CHILDHOOD 19 

and resumed the air of the indomitable sovereign. 
The war cry immediately resounded throughout 
Hungary. Chieftains and vassals rallied around the 
banner of Maria. In person she inspected and headed 
the gathering army, and her spirit inspired them. 
With the ferocity of despair, these new recruits hurled 
themselves upon the invaders. A few battles, desper- 
ate and sanguinary, were fought, and the army of 
Maria was victorious. England and Holland, appre- 
hensive that the destruction of the Austrian empire 
would destroy the balance of power in Europe, and 
encouraged by the successful resistance which the 
Austrians were now making, came to the rescue of 
the heroic queen. The tide of battle was turned. 
The armies of France, Germany, and Spain were 
driven from the territory which they had overrun. 
Maria, with untiring energy, followed up her successes. 
She pursued her retreating foes into their own country, 
and finally granted peace to her enemies only by 
wresting from them large portions of their territory. 
The renown of these exploits resounded through 
Europe. The name of Maria Theresa was embalmed 
throughout the civilized world. Under her vigorous 
sway, Austria, from the very brink of ruin, was ele- 
vated to a degree of splendor and power it had never 
attained before. These conflicts and victories inspired 
Maria with a haughty and imperious spirit, and the 
loveliness of the female character was lost amid the 



20 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1740 

pomp of martial achievements. The proud sovereign 
eclipsed the woman. , ,r.; 

It is not to be supposed that such a bosom could 
be the shrine of tenderness and affection. Maria's vir- 
tues were all of the masculine gender. She really 
loved, or, rather, liked her husband; but it was with 
the same kind of emotion with which an energetic 
and ambitious man loves his wife. She cherished 
him, protected him, watched over him, and loaded 
him with honors. He was of a mild, gentle, confid- 
ing spirit, and would have made a lovely wife. She 
was ambitious, fearless, and commanding, and would 
have made a noble husband. ;In fact, this was es- 
sentially the relation which existed between them. 
Maria Theresa governed the empire, while Francis 
loved and caressed the children. 

The queen, by her armies and her political in- 
fluence, had succeeded in having Francis crowned 
Emperor of Germany. She stood upon the balcony 
as the imposing ceremony was performed, and was 
the first to shout "Long live the Emperor Francis I." 
Like Napoleon, she had become the creator of kings, 
Austria was now in the greatest prosperity, and Maria 
Theresa the most illustrious queen in Europe. Her 
renown filled the civilized world. Through her whole 
reign, though she became the mother of sixteen chil- 
dren, she devoted herself with untiring energy to the 
aggrandizement of her empire. She united with Rus- 



1745] PARENTAGE— CHILDHOOD 21 

sia and Prussia in the infamous partition of Poland, 
and in the banditti division of the spoil she annexed 
to her own dominions twenty-seven thousand square 
miles and two million five hundred thousand inhab- 
itants. 

From this exhibition of the character of Maria The- 
resa, the mother of Maria Antoinette, the reader will 
not be surprised that she should have inspired her 
children with awe rather than with affection. In 
truth, their imperial mother was so devoted to the 
cares of the empire, that she was almost a stranger 
to her children, and could have known herself but 
few of the emotions of maternal love. Her children 
were placed under the care of nurses and governesses 
from their birth. Once in every eight or ten days the 
queen appropriated an hour for the inspection of the 
nursery and the apartments appropriated to the chil- 
dren; and she performed this duty with the same 
fidelity with which she examined the wards of the 
state hospitals and the military schools. 

The following anecdote strikingly illustrates the 
austere and inflexible character of the empress. The 
wife of her son Joseph died of the confluent small- 
pox, and her body had been consigned to the vaults 
of the royal tomb. Soon after this event, Josepha, 
one of the daughters of the empress, was to be mar- 
ried to the King of Naples. The arrangements had 
all been made for their approaching nuptials, and she 



11 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1765 

was just on the point of leaving Vienna to ascend to 
the Neapohtan throne, when she received an order 
from her mother that she must not depart from the 
empire until she had, in accordance with the estab- 
lished custom, descended into the tomb of her ances- 
tors and offered her parting prayer. The young 
princess, in an agony of consternation, received the 
cruel requisition. Yet she dared not disobey her 
mother. She took her little sister, Maria Antoinette, 
whom she loved most tenderly, upon her knee, and, 
weeping bitterly, bade her farewell, saying that she 
was sure she should take the dreadful disease and 
die. Trembling in every fiber, the unhappy princess 
descended into the gloomy sepulcher, where the 
bodies of generations of kings were moldering. She 
hurried through her short prayer, and in the deepest 
agitation returned to the palace, and threw herself in 
despair upon her bed. 

Her worst apprehensions were realized. The fatal 
disease had penetrated her veins. Soon it manifested 
itself in its utmost virulence. After lingering a few 
days and nights in dreadful suffering, she breathed 
her last, and her own loathsome remains were con- 
signed to the same silent chambers of the dead. 
Maria Theresa commanded her child to do no more 
than she would have insisted upon doing herself 
under similar circumstances. And when she followed 
her daughter to the tomb, she probably allowed her- 



1765] PARENTAGE— CHILDHOOD 23 

self to indulge in no regrets in view of the course 
she had pursued, but consoled herself with the reflec- 
tion that she had done her duty. 

The Emperor Francis died, 1765, leaving Maria 
Theresa still in the vigor of life, and quite beautiful. 
Three of her counselors of state, ambitious of sharing 
the throne with the illustrious queen, entered into a 
compact, by which they were all to endeavor to ob- 
tain her hand in marriage, agreeing that the success- 
ful one should devote the power thus obtained to the 
aggrandizement of the other two. The empress was 
informed of this arrangement, and, at the close of a 
cabinet council, took occasion, with great dignity and 
composure, to inform them that she did not intend 
ever again to enter into the marriage state, but that, 
should she hereafter change her mind, it would only 
be in favor of one who had no ambitious desires, and 
who would have no inclination to intermeddle with 
the affairs of state; and that, should she ever marry 
one of her ministers, she should immediately remove 
him from all office. Her counselors, loving power 
more than all things else, immediately abandoned 
every thought of obtaining the hand of Maria at such 
a sacrifice, 

Maria Antoinette, the subject of this biography, was 
born on the 2d of November, 1755. Few of the in- 
habitants of this world have commenced life under 
circumstances of greater splendor, or with more bril- 



24 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1755 

liant prospects of a life replete with happiness. She 
was a child of great vivacity and beauty, full of light- 
heartedness, and ever prone to look upon the sunny 
side of every prospect. Her disposition was frank, 
cordial, and affectionate. Her mental endowments 
were by nature of a very superior order. Laughing 
at the restraints of royal etiquette, she, by her gener- 
ous and confiding spirit, won the love of all hearts. 
Maria Antoinette was but slightly acquainted with 
her imperial mother, and could regard her with no 
other emotions than those of respect and awe; but 
the mild and gentle spirit of her father took in her 
heart a mother's place, and she clung to him with the 
most ardent affection. 

When she was but ten years of age, her father 
was one day going to Inspruck upon some business. 
The royal cavalcade was drawn up in the court-yard 
of the palace. The emperor had entered his carriage, 
surrounded by his retinue, and was just on the point 
of leaving, when he ordered the postillions to delay, 
and requested an attendant to bring to him his little 
daughter Maria Antoinette. The blooming child was 
brought from the nursery, with her flaxen hair in 
ringlets clustered around her shoulders, and presented 
to her father. As she entwined her arms around his 
neck and clung to his embrace, he pressed her most 
tenderly to his bosom, saying, "Adieu, my dear httle 
daughter. Father wished once more to press you to 



1755] PARENTAGE— CHILDHOOD 25 

his heart." The emperor and his child never met 
again. At Inspruck Francis was taken suddenly ill, 
and, after a few days' sickness, died. The grief of 
Maria Antoinette knew no bounds. But the tears of 
childhood soon dried up. The parting scene, however, 
produced an impression upon Maria which was never 
effaced, and she ever spoke of her father in terms of 
the warmest affection. 

Maria Theresa, half conscious of the imperfect 
manner in which she performed her maternal duties, 
was very solicitous to have it understood that she 
did not neglect her children; that she was the best 
mother in the world as well as the most illustrious 
sovereign. When any distinguished stranger from the 
other courts of Europe visited Vienna, she arranged 
her sixteen children around the dinner-table, towering 
above them in queenly majesty, and endeavored to 
convey the impression that they were the especial 
objects of her motherly care. It was not, however, 
the generous warmth of love, but the cold sense of 
duty, which alone regulated her conduct in reference 
to them, and she had probably convinced herself that 
she discharged her maternal obligations with the most 
exemplary fidelity. 

The family physician every morning visited each 
one of the children, and then briefly reported to the 
empress the health of the archdukes and the arch- 
duchesses. This report fully satisfied all the yearn- 



26 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1755 

ings of maternal love in the bosom of Maria Theresa; 
though she still, that she might not fail in the least 
degree in motherly affection, endeavored to see them 
with her own eyes, and to speak to them with her 
own lips, as often as once in a week or ten days. 
The preceptors and governesses of the royal house- 
hold, being thus left very much to themselves, were 
far more anxious to gratify the immediate wishes of 
the children, and thus to secure their love, than to 
urge them to efforts for intellectual improvement. 
Maria Antoinette, in subsequent life, related many 
amusing anecdotes illustrative of the petty artifices by 
which the scrutiny of the empress was eluded. The 
copies which were presented to the queen in evidence 
of the progress the children were making in hand- 
writing were all traced first in pencil by the govern- 
ess. The children then followed with the pen over 
the penciled lines. Drawings were exhibited, beauti- 
fully executed, to show the skill Maria Antoinette had 
attained in that delightful accomplishment, which 
drawings the pencil of Maria had not even touched. 
She was also taught to address strangers of distinc- 
tion in short Latin phrases, when she did not under- 
stand the meaning of one single word of the language. 
Her teacher of Italian, the Abbe Metastasio, was the 
only one who was faithful in his duties, and Maria 
made very great proficiency in that language. French 
being the language of the nursery, Maria necessarily 



1755] PARENTAGE— CHILDHOOD 27 

acquired the power of speaking it witii great fluency, 
though she was quite unable to write it correctly. In 
the acquisition of French, her own mother tongue, 
the German, was so totally neglected, that, incredible 
as it may seem, she actually lost the power either of 
speaking or of understanding it. In after years, cha- 
grined at such unutterable folly, she sat down with 
great resolution to the study of her own native 
tongue, and encountered all the difficulties which 
would tax the patience of any foreigner in the at- 
tempt. She persevered for about six weeks, and then 
relinquished the enterprise in despair. The young 
princess was extremely fond of music, and yet she 
was not taught to play well upon any instrument. 
This became subsequently a source of great mortifica- 
tion to her, for she was ashamed to confess her igno- 
rance of an accomplishment deemed, in the courts of 
Europe, so essential to a polished education, and yet 
she dared not sit down to any instrument in the 
presence of others. When she first arrived at Ver- 
sailles as the bride of the heir to the throne of 
France, she was so deeply mortified at this defect in 
her education, that she immediately employed a 
teacher to give her lessons secretly for three months. 
During this time she applied herself to her task with 
the utmost assiduity, and at the end of the time gave 
surprising proof of the skill she had so rapidly at- 
tained. Upon all the subjects of history, science, and 



28 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1768 

general literature, the princess was left entirely unin- 
formed. The activity and energy of her mind only 
led her the more poignantly to feel the mortification 
to which this ignorance often exposed her. When 
surrounded by the splendors of royalty, she frequently 
retired to weep over deficiencies which it was too 
late to repair. The wits of Paris seized upon these 
occasional developments of the want of mental cul- 
ture as the indication of a weak mind, and the 
daughter of Maria Theresa, the descendant of the 
Csesars, was the butt, in saloon and cafe, of merri- 
ment and song. Maria was beautiful and graceful, 
and winning in all her ways. But this imperfect 
education, exposing her to contempt and ridicule in 
the society of intellectual men and women, was not 
among the unimportant elements which conducted to 
her own ruin, to the overthrow of the French throne, 
and to that deluge of blood which for many years 
rolled its billows incarnadine over Europe. 

Maria Theresa had sent to Paris for two teachers 
of French to instruct her daughter in the literature of 
that country over which she was destined to reign. 
From that pleasure-loving metropolis two play actors 
were sent to take charge of her education, one of 
whom was a man of notoriously dissolute character. 
As the connection between Maria Antoinette and 
Louis, the heir apparent to the throne of France, was 
already contemplated, some solicitude was felt by 



1768] PARENTAGE— CHILDHOOD 29 

members of the court of Versailles in reference to the 
impropriety of this selection, and the French embas- 
sador at Vienna was requested to urge the empress 
to dismiss the obnoxious teachers, and make a dif- 
ferent choice. She immediately complied with the 
request, and sent to the Duke de Choiseul, the min- 
ister of state of Louis XV., to send a preceptor such 
as would be acceptable to the court of Versailles. 
After no little difficulty in finding one in whom all 
parties could unite, the Abbe de Vermond was se- 
lected, a vain, ambitious, weak-minded man, who, 
by the most studied artifice, insinuated himself into 
the good graces of Maria Theresa, and gained a great 
but pernicious influence over the mind of his youth- 
ful pupil. The cabinets of France and Austria having 
decided the question that Maria Antoinette was to be 
the bride of Louis, who was soon to ascend the 
throne of France, the Abbe de Vermond, proud of 
his position as the intellectual and moral guide of the 
destined Queen of France, shamefully abused his 
trust, and sought only to obtain an abiding influence, 
which he might use for the promotion of his own 
ambition. He carefully kept her in ignorance, to 
render himself more necessary to her; and he was 
never unwilling to involve her in difficulties, that she 
might be under the necessity of appealing to him for 
extrication. 

Instead of endeavoring to prepare her for the sit- 



30 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1769 

uation she was destined to fill, it seemed to be his 
aim to train her to such habits of thought and feel- 
ing as would totally incapacitate her to be happy, or 
to acquire an influence over the gay but ceremony- 
loving assemblages of the Tuileries, Versailles, and 
St. Cloud. At this time, the fashion of the French 
court led to extreme attention to all the punctilios of 
etiquette. Every word, every gesture, was regulated 
by inflexible rule. Every garment worn, and every 
act of life, was regulated by the requisitions of the 
code ceremonial. Virtue was concealed and vice gar- 
nished by the inflexible observance of stately forms. 
An infringement of the laws of etiquette was deemed 
a far greater crime than the most serious violation of 
the laws of morality. In the court of Vienna, on the 
other hand, fashion ran to just the other extreme. It 
was fashionable to despise fashion. It was etiquette 
to pay no regard to etiquette. The haughty Austrian 
noble prided himself in dressing as he pleased, and 
looked with contempt upon the studied attitudes and 
foppish attire of the French. The Parisian courtier, 
on the other hand, rejoicing in his ruffles, and rib- 
bons, and practiced movements, despised the boorish 
manners, as he deemed them, of the Austrian. 

The Abbe de Vermond, to ingratiate himself with 
the Austrian court, did all in his power to inspire 
Maria Antoinette with contempt of Parisian manners. 
He zealously conformed to the customs prevailing in 



1769] PARENTAGE— CHILDHOOD 31 

Vienna, and, like all new converts, to prove the sin- 
cerity of his conversion, went far in advance of his 
sect in intemperate zeal. Maria Antoinette was but 
a child, mirthful, beautiful, open hearted, and, like all 
other children, loving freedom from restraint. Her 
preceptor ridiculed incessantly, mercilessly, the man- 
ners of the French court, where she vas soon to 
reign as queen, and influenced her to despise that 
salutary regard to appearances so essential in all re- 
fined life. Under this tutelage, Maria became as nat- 
ural, unguarded, and free as a mountain maid. She 
smiled or wept, as the mood was upon her. She was 
cordial toward those she loved, and distant and reserved 
toward those she despised. She cared not to repress 
her emotions of sadness or mirthfulness as occasions 
arose to excite them. She was conscientious, and un- 
willing to do that which she thought to be wrong, 
and still she was imprudent, and troubled not herself 
with the interpretation which others might put upon 
her conduct. She prided herself a little upon her 
independence and recklessness of the opinions of 
others, and thus she was ever incurring undeserved 
censure, and becoming involved in unmerited difficul- 
ties. She was, in heart, truly a noble girl. Her faults 
were the excesses of a generous and magnanimous 
spirit. Though she inherited much of the imperial 
energy of her mother, it was tempered and adorned 
with the mildness and affectionateness of her father. 



32 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1769 

Her education had necessarily tended to induce 
her to look down with aristocratic pride upon those 
beneath her in rank in life, and to dream that the 
world and all it inherits was intended for the ex- 
clusive benefit of kings and queens. Still, the natural 
goodness of her heart ever led her to acts of kind- 
ness and generosity. She thus won the love, almost 
without seeking it, of all who knew her well. Her 
faults were the unavoidable effect of her birth, her 
education, and all those nameless but untoward influ- 
ences which surrounded her from the cradle to the 
grave. Her virtues were all her own, the instinctive 
emotions of a frank, confiding, and magnanimous 
spirit. 

The childhood of Maria Antoinette was probably, 
on the whole, as happy as often falls to the lot of 
humanity. As she had never known a mother's love, 
she never felt its loss. There are few more enchant- 
ing abodes upon the surface of the globe than the 
pleasure palaces of the Austrian kings. Forest and 
grove, garden and wild, rivulet and lake, combine all 
their charms to lend fascination to .those haunts of 
regal festivity. In the palace of Schoenbrun, and in 
the imbowered gardens which surround that world- 
renowned habitation of princely grandeur,' Maria passed 
many of the years of her childhood. Now she trod 
the graveled walk, pursuing the butterfly, and gath- 
ering the flowers, with brothers and sisters joining in 



1769] PARENTAGE— CHILDHOOD 23 

the recreation. Now the feet of her pony scattered 
the pebbles of the path, as the little troop of eques- 
trians cantered beneath the shade of majestic elms. 
Now the prancing steeds draw them in the chariot, 
through the infinitely diversified drives, and the golden 
leaves of autumn float gracefully through the still air 
upon their heads. The boat, with damask cushions 
and silken awning, invites them upon the lake. The 
strong arms of the rowers bear them with fairy mo- 
tion to sandy beach and jutting head-land, to island, 
and rivulet, and bay, while swans and water-fowl, of 
every variety of plumage, sport before them and 
around them. Such were the scenes in which Maria 
Antoinette passed the first fourteen years of her life. 
Every want which wealth could supply was gratified. 
"What a destiny!" exclaimed a Frenchman, as he 
looked upon one similarly situated, "what a destiny 1 
young, rich, beautiful, and an archduchess! Ma foi! 
quel destine!" 

The personal appearance of Maria Antoinette, as 
she bloomed into womanhood, is thus described by 
Lamartine. "Her beauty dazzled the whole kingdom. 
She was of a tall, graceful figure, a true daughter of 
the Tyrol. The natural majesty of her carriage de- 
stroyed none of the graces of her movements; her 
neck, rising elegantly and distinctly from her shoul- 
ders, gave expression to every attitude. The woman 
was perceptible beneath the queen, the tenderness of 

M. of H.— I— 5 



34 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1769 

heart was not lost in the elevation of her destiny. 
Her light brown hair was long and silky; her fore- 
head, high and rather projecting, was united to her 
temples by those fine curves which give so much 
delicacy and expression to that seat of thought, or 
the soul in woman; her eyes, of that clear blue which 
recall the skies of the north or the waters of the 
Danube; Van aquiline nose, the nostrils open and 
slightly projecting, where emotions palpitate and cour- 
age is evidenced; a large mouth, Austrian lips, that 
is, projecting and well defined; an oval countenance, 
animated, varying, impassioned, and the ensemble of 
these features, replete with that expression, impos- 
sible to describe^Vwhich emanates from the look, the 
shades, the reflections of the face, which encompasses 
it with an iris like that of the warm and tinted 
vapor, which bathes objects in full sunlight — the ex- 
treme loveliness which the ideal conveys, and which, 
by giving it life, increases its attraction. With all 
these charms, a soul yearning to attach itself, a heart 
easily moved, but yet earnest in desire to fix itself; a 
pensive and intelligent smile, with nothing of vacuity 
in it, because it felt itself worthy of friendships. 
Such was Maria Antoinette as a woman." 

When but fourteen years of age she was affianced 
as the bride of young Louis, the grandson of Louis 
XV., and heir apparent to the throne of France. 
Neither of the youthful couple had ever seen each 



lyyo] PARENTAGE— CHILDHOOD 35 

other, and neither of them had any thing to do in 
forming the connection. It was deemed expedient by 
the cabinets of Versailles and Vienna that the two 
should be united, in order to promote friendly alliance 
between France and Austria. Maria Antoinette had 
never dreamed even of questioning any of her mother's 
arrangements, and consequently she had no temptation 
to consider whether she liked or disliked the plan. 
She had been trained to the most unhesitating sub- 
mission to maternal authority. The childish heart of 
the mirth-loving princess was doubtless dazzled with 
the anticipations of the splendors which awaited her 
at Versailles and St. Cloud. But when she bade 
adieu to the gardens of Schoenbrun, and left the scenes 
of her childhood, she entered upon one of the wildest 
careers of terror and of suffering which mortal foot- 
steps have ever trod. The parting from her mother 
gave her no especial pain, for she had ever looked up 
to her as to a superior being, to whom she was 
bound to render homage and obedience, rather than 
as to a mother around whom the affections of her 
heart were entwined. But she loved her brothers and 
sisters most tenderly. She was extremely attached to 
the happy home where her childish heart had basked 
in all childish pleasures, and many were the tears she 
shed when she looked back from the eminences which 
surround Vienna upon those haunts to which she was 
destined never again to return. 



CHAPTER II. 

Bridal Days. 

lyouis XV.— Prince I^ouis.— Madame du Barri.— Her dissolute character.— 
Children of Louis XV.— Anecdote of Madame du Barri.- Madame du 
Barri's beauty.— Her political influence.— Madame du Barri's pavilion. 
- The Duke de Brissac— Madame du Barri's flight.— She is betrayed. — 
Condemnation of Madame du Barri.— Her anguish and despair.— :Sxe- 
cution of Madame du Barri.— Letter from Maria Theresa.— Departure of 
Maria for Paris. — Emotions of the populace. — Magnificent pavilion. — 
Singular custom. — Grand procession. — The reception. — Young Louis's 
indifference. — The marriage. — Insensibility of young Louis. — Acclama- 
tions of the Parisians. — Maria shows herself to the populace. — She re- 
ceives their homage. — The fire-vforks. — Awful conflagration. — Scene of 
horror.— Consternation of Maria. — Presents from Louis XV. — Malice of 
Madame du Barri.— Maria's difficulties.- The Countess de Noailles.— 
Laws of etiquette.— An illustration.— Countess de Noailles's ideas of eti- 
quette.— An anecdote.- Maria's contempt of etiquette.— The Countess 
de Noailles nicknamed. — Ludicrous scene.— Rage of the old ladies. — 
Habits of Maria Theresa.— The dauphiness becomes unpopular.— Dining 
in public. — How it was done. — Versailles. — Jlagnificence of the palace. — 
Gallery of paintings, statuary, etc.— Gorgeous saloons.— Splendid gar- 
dens.— Other palaces.— The Great and the Little Trianon.— Gardens, 
cascades, etc. — Nature of Maria's mind. — Walks in the gardens. — Maria's 
want of education. — She attempts to supply it. — Maria's enemies. — Their 
malignant slanders. — Visit of Maximilian. — The quarrel about forms. — 
Unexpected tenderness of Louis. 

WHEN Maria Antoinette was fifteen years of 
age, a light-hearted, blooming, beautiful 
girl, hardly yet emerging from the period 
of childhood, all Austria, indeed all Europe, was in- 
terested in the preparations for her nuptials with 
the destined King of France. Louis XV. still sat 

(36) 



i77o] BRIDAL DAYS 37 

upon the throne of Charlemagne. His eldest son 
had died about ten years before, leaving a little boy, 
some twelve years of age, to inherit the crovi^n his 
father had lost by death. The young Louis, grand- 
child of the reigning king, was mild, inoffensive, 
and bashful, with but little energy of mind, with no 
ardor of feeling, and singularly destitute of all pas- 
sions. He was perfectly exemplary in his conduct, 
perhaps not so much from inherent strength of prin- 
ciple as from possessing that peculiarity of tempera- 
ment, cold and phlegmatic, which feels not the 
power of temptation. He submitted passively to the 
arrangements for his marriage, never manifesting the 
slightest emotion of pleasure or repugnance in view 
of his approaching alliance with one of the most 
beautiful and fascinating princesses of Europe. Louis 
was entirely insensible to all the charms of female 
beauty, and seemed incapable of feeling the emotion 
of love. 

Louis XV., a pleasure-loving, dissolute man, had 
surrounded his throne with all the attractions of 
fashionable indulgence and dissipation. There was 
one woman in his court, Madame du Barri, celebrated 
in the annals of profligacy, who had acquired an 
entire ascendency over the mind of the king. The 
disreputable connection existing between her and the 
monarch excluded her from respect, and yet the king 
loaded her with honors, received her at his table, and 



38 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1770 

forced her society upon all the inmates of the palace. 
The court was full of jealousies and bickerings; and 
while one party were disposed to welcome Maria 
Antoinette, hoping that she would espouse and 
strengthen their cause, the other party looked upon 
her with suspicion and hostility, and prepared to 
meet her with all the weapons of annoyance. 

Neither morals nor religion were then of any re- 
pute in the court of France. Vice did not even affect 
concealment. The children of Louis XV. were edu- 
cated, or rather not educated in a nunnery. The 
Princess Louisa, when twelve years of age, knew not 
the letters of her alphabet. When the children did 
wrong, the sacred sisters sent them, for penance, into 
the dark, damp, and gloomy sepulcher of the convent, 
where the remains of the departed nuns were molder- 
ing to decay. Here the timid and superstitious girls, in 
an agony of terror, were sent alone, to make expiation 
for some childish offense. The little Princess Victoire, 
who was of a very nervous temperament, was thrown 
into convulsions by this harsh treatment, and the injury 
to her nervous system was so irreparable, that during 
her whole life she was exposed to periodical parox- 
ysms of panic terror. 

One day the king, when sitting with Madame du 
Barri, received a package of letters. The petted 
favorite, suspecting that one of them was from an 
enemy of hers, snatched the packet from the king's 



lyyo] BRIDAL DAYS 39 

hand. As he endeavored to regain it, she resisted, 
and ran two or three times around the table, which 
was in the center of the room, eagerly pursued by 
the irritated monarch. At length, in the excitement 
of this most strange conflict, she threw the letters 
into the glowing fire of the grate, where they were 
all consumed. The king, enraged beyond endurance, 
seized her by the shoulders, and thrust her violently 
out of the room. After a few hours, however, the 
weak-minded monarch called upon her. The countess, 
trembling in view of her dismissal, with its dreadful 
consequences of disgrace and beggary, threw her- 
self at his feet, bathed in tears, and they were recon- 
ciled. 

The remaining history of this celebrated woman 
is so remarkable that we can not refrain from briefly 
recording it. Her marvelous beauty had inflamed the 
passions of the king, and she had obtained so entire 
an ascendency over his mind that she was literally the 
monarch of France. The treasures of the empire were 
emptied into her lap. Notwithstanding the stigma 
attached to her position, the nation, accustomed to 
this laxity of morals, submitted to the yoke. As the 
idol of the king, and the dispenser of honors and 
powers, the clergy, the nobility, the philosophers, all 
did her homage. She was still young, and in all the 
splendor of her ravishing beauty, when the king died. 
For the sake of appearances, she retired for a few 



40 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1793 

months into a runnery. Soon, however, she emerged 
again into the gay world. Her limitless power over 
the voluptuous old monarch had enabled her to amass 
an enormous fortune. With this she reared and em- 
bellished for herself a magnificent retreat, adorned with 
more than regal splendor, in the vicinity of Paris — 
the Pavilion de Luciennes, on the borders of the forest 
of St. Germain. The old Duke de Brissac, who had 
long been an admirer of her charms, here lived with 
her in unsanctified union. Almost universal corrup- 
tion at that time pervaded the nobility of France — 
one of the exciting causes of the Revolution. Though 
excluded from appearing at the court of Louis XVI. 
and Maria Antoinette, her magnificent saloons were 
crowded by those ever ready to worship at the shrine 
of wealth, and rank, and power. But, as the stormy 
days of the Revolution shed their gloom over France, 
and an infuriated populace were wreaking their ven- 
geance upon the throne and the nobles, Madame du 
Barri, terrified by the scenes of violence daily occur- 
ring, prepared to fly from France. She invested enor- 
mous funds in England, and one dark night went out 
with the Duke de Brissac alone, and, by the dim 
light of a lantern, they dug a hole under the foot of 
a tree in the park, and buried much of the treasure 
which she was unable to take away with her. In 
disguise, she reached the coast of France, and escaped 
across the Channel to England. Here she devoted her 



1793] BRIDAL DAYS 41 

immense revenue to the relief of the emigrants who 
were every day flying in dismay from the horrors 
with which they were surrounded. The Duke de 
Brissac, who was commander of the constitutional 
guard of the king, appeared at Versailles in an hour 
of great excitement. The mob attacked him. He 
was instantly assassinated. His head, covered with 
the white locks of age was cut off, and planted upon 
one of the palisades of the palace gates, a fearful 
warning to all who were suspected of advocating the 
cause of the king. 

And now no one knew of the buried treasure but 
Madame du Barri herself She, anxious to regain 
them, ventured, in disguise, to return to France to 
disinter her diamonds, and take them with her to 
England. A young negro servant, whom she had 
pampered with every indulgence, and had caressed 
with the fondness with which a mother fondles her 
child, whom she had caused to be painted by her 
side in her portraits, saw his mistress and betrayed 
her. She was immediately seized by the mob, and 
dragged before the revolutionary tribunal of Luciennes. 
She was condemned as a Royalist, and was hurried 
along in the cart of the condemned, amid the execra- 
tions and jeers of the delirious mob, to the guillotine. 
Her long hair was shorn, that the action of the knife 
might be unimpeded; but the clustering ringlets, in 
beautiful profusion, fell over her brow and temples, 



42 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1793 

and veiled her voluptuous features and bare bosom, 
from which the executioner had torn the veil. The 
yells of the infuriated and deriding populace filled the 
air, as they danced exultingly around the aristocratic 
courtesan. But the shrieks of the unhappy victim 
pierced shrilly through them all. She was frantic with 
terror. Her whole soul was unnerved, and not one 
emotion of fortitude remained to sustain the woman 
of pleasure through her dreadful doom. With floods 
of tears, and gestures of despair, and beseeching, 
heart-rending cries, she incessantly exclaimed, "Life 
— life — hfe! O save me! save me! " The mob jeered, 
and derided, and insulted her in every conceivable 
way. They made themselves merry with her anguish 
and terror. They shouted witticisms in her ear re- 
specting the pillow of the guillotine upon which she 
was to repose her head. Struggling and shrieking, 
she was bound to the plank. Suddenly her voice 
was hushed. The dissevered head, dripping with 
blood, fell into the basket, and her soul was in eter- 
nity. Poor woman! It is easy to condemn. It is 
better for the heart to pity. Endowed with almost 
celestial beauty, living in a corrupt age, and lured, 
when a child, by a monarch's love, she fell. It is 
well to weep over her sad fate, and to remember the 
prayer, "Lead us not into temptation." 

Such were the characters and such the state of 
morals of the court into which this beautiful and art- 



lyyo] BRIDAL DAYS 43 

less princess, Maria Antoinette, but fifteen years of 
age, was to be introduced. As she left the palaces 
of Vienna to encounter the temptations of the Tuileries 
and Versailles, Maria Theresa wrote the following 
characteristic letter to the future husband of her 
daughter: 

"Your bride, dear dauphin, is separated from me. 
As she has ever been my delight, so Will she be your 
happiness. For this purpose have I educated her; for 
I have long been aware that she was to be the com- 
panion of your life. I have enjoined upon her, as 
among her highest duties, the most tender attachment 
to your person, the greatest attention to every thing that 
can please or make you happy. Above all, I have rec- 
ommended to her humility toward God, because I am 
convinced that it is impossible for us to contribute to 
the happiness of the subjects confided to us without 
love to Him who breaks the scepters and crushes the 
thrones of kings according to His will." 

The great mass of the Austrian population, hating 
the French, with whom they had long been at war, were 
exceedingly averse to this marriage. As the train of 
royal carriages was drawn up, on the morning of her 
departure, to convey the bride to Paris, an immense 
assemblage of the populace of Vienna, men, women, 
and children, surrounded the cortege with weeping 



44 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1770 

and lamentation. Loyalty was then an emotion ex- 
isting in the popular mind with an intensity which 
now can hardly be conceived. At length, in the ex- 
citement of their feelings, to save the beloved princess 
from a doom which they deemed dreadful, they made 
a rush toward the carriages to cut the traces and thus 
to prevent the departure. The guard was compelled 
to interfere, and repel, with violence, the affectionate 
mob. As the long and splendid train, preceded and 
followed by squadrons of horse, disappeared through 
the gate of the city, a universal feeling of sadness op- 
pressed the capital. The people returned to their 
homes silent and dejected, as if they had been wit- 
nessing the obsequies rather than the nuptials of the 
beloved princess. 

The gorgeous cavalcade proceeded to Kell, on the 
frontiers of Austria and France. There a magnificent 
pavilion had been erected, consisting of a vast saloon, 
with an apartment at either end. One of these apart- 
ments was assigned to the lords and ladies of the 
court of Vienna; the other was appropriated to the 
brilliant train which had come from Paris to receive 
the bride. The two courts vied with each other in 
the exhibition of wealth and magnificence. It was an 
established law of French etiquette, always observed 
on such occasions, that the royal bride should receive 
her wedding dress from France, and should retain ab- 
solutely nothing belonging to a foreign court. The 




;-.V\.*».«»wia«>< ■ 



MARIA AJi/iVjlNET^ 

ING HEk "^ DRESS ^A T KELL ' BEFORE 
ARRIVING, AT P 



Mg 01 a V 



i77o] BRIDAL DAYS 45 

princess was, consequently, in the pavilion appropri- 
ated to the Austrian suite, unrobed of all her gar- 
ments, excepting her body linen and stockings. The 
door was then thrown open, and in this plight the 
beautiful and blushing child advanced into the saloon. 
The French ladies rushed to meet her. Maria threw 
herself into the arms of the Countess de Noailles, and 
wept convulsively. The French were perfectly en- 
chanted with her beauty; and the proud position of 
her head and shoulders betrayed to their eyes the 
daughter of the Caesars. She was immediately con- 
ducted to the apartment appropriated to the French 
court. Here the few remaining articles of clothing 
were removed from her person, and she was re- 
dressed in the most brilliant attire which the wealth 
of the French monarchy could furnish. 

And now, charioted in splendor, surrounded by 
the homage of lords and ladies, accompanied by all 
the pomp of civic and military parade, and enlivened 
by the most exultant strains of martial bands, Maria 
was conducted toward Paris, while her Austrian 
friends bade her adieu and returned to Vienna. The 
horizon, by night, was illumined by bonfires, flaming 
upon every hill; the church bells rang their merriest 
peals; cities blazed with illuminations and fire-works; 
and files of maidens lined her way, singing their 
songs of welcome, and carpeting her path with roses. 
It was a scene to dazzle the most firm and contem- 



46 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1770 

plative. No dream of romance could have been more 
bewildering to the ardent and romantic princess, just 
emerging from the cloistered seclusion of the palace 
nursery. 

Louis, then a young man about twenty years of 
age, came from Paris with his grandfather, King 
Louis XV., and a splendid retinue of courtiers, as far 
as Compiegne, to meet his bride. Uninfluenced by 
any emotions of tenderness, apparently entirely un- 
conscious of all those mysterious emotions which 
bind loving hearts, he saluted the stranger with cold 
and distant respect. He thought not of wounding 
her feelings; he had no aversion to the connection, 
but he seemed not even to think of any more inti- 
macy with Maria than with any other lady who 
adorned the court. The ardent and warm-hearted 
princess was deeply hurt at this indifference; but in- 
stinctive pride forbade its manifestation, except in 
bosom converse to a few confiding friends. 

The bride and her passive and unimpassioned 
bridegroom were conducted to Versailles. It was the 
i6th of May, 1770, when the marriage ceremony was 
performed, with all the splendor with which it could 
be invested. The gorgeous palaces of Versailles were 
thronged with the nobility of Europe, and filled with 
rejoicing. The old king was charmed with the beauty 
and affability of the young bride. All hearts were 
filled with happiness, except those of the newly-mar. 



i77o] BRIDAL DAYS 47 

ried couple. Louis was tranquil and contented. He 
was neither allured nor repelled by his bride. He 
never sought her society alone, and ever approached 
her with the same distance and reserve with which 
he would approach any other young lady who was a 
visitor at the palace. He never intruded upon the 
privacy of her apartments, and she was his wife but 
in name. While all France was filled with the praises 
of her beauty, and all eyes were enchanted by her 
graceful demeanor, her husband alone was insensible 
to her charms. After a few days spent with the 
rejoicing court, amid the bowers and fountains of 
Versailles, the nuptial party departed for Paris, and 
entered the palace of the Tuileries, the scene of 
future sorrows such as few on earth have ever ex- 
perienced. 

As Maria, in dazzling beauty, entered Paris, the 
whole city was in a delirium of pleasure. Triumphal 
arches greeted her progress. The acclamations of 
hundreds of thousands filled the air. The journals ex- 
hausted the French language in extolling her loveli- 
ness. Poets sang her charms, and painters vied with 
each other in transferring her features to canvas. As 
Maria sat in the dining saloon of the Tuileries at the 
marriage entertainment, the shouts of the immense 
assemblage thronging the gardens rendered it neces- 
sary for her to present herself to them upon the bal- 
cony. She stepped from the window, and looked 



48 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1770 

out upon the vast sea of heads which filled the 
garden and the Place Louis XV. Ail eyes were riveted 
upon her as she stood before the throng upon the 
balcony in dazzling beauty, and the air resounded 
with applauses. She exclaimed, with astonishment, 
"What a concourse!" "Madame," said the governor 
of Paris, "1 may tell you, without fear of offending 
the dauphin, that they are so many lovers." The 
heir apparent to the throne of France is called the 
dauphin; and, until the death of Louis XV., Louis 
and Maria Antoinette were called the dauphin and 
dauphiness. Louis seemed neither pleased nor dis- 
pleased with the acclamations and homage which his 
bride received. His singularly passionless nature led 
him to retirement and his books, and he hardly heard 
even the acclamations with which Paris was filled. 

Arrangements had been made for a very brilliant 
display of fire-works, in celebration of the marriage, 
at the Place Louis XV. • The hundreds of thousands 
of that pleasure-loving metropolis thronged the Place 
and all its avenues. The dense mass was wedged 
as compactly as it was possible to crowd human 
beings together. Not a spot of ground was left 
vacant upon which a human foot could be planted. 
Every house top, every balcony, every embra- 
sure of a window swarmed with the multitude. 
Long lines of omnibuses, coaches, and carriages of 
every description, filled with groups of- young and 



i77o] BRIDAL DAYS 49 

old, were intermingled with the countless multitude 
— men and horses so crowded into contact that 
neither could move. It was an impervious ocean of 
throbbing life. In the center of this Place, the pride 
of Paris, the scene of its most triumphant festivities 
and its most unutterable woes, vast scaffolds had 
been reared, and they were burdened with fire-works, 
intended to surpass in brilliancy and sublimity any 
spectacle of the kind earth had- ever before witnessed. 
Suddenly a bright flame was seen, a shriek was 
heard, and the whole scaffolding, by some accidental 
spark, was enveloped in a sheet of fire. Then ensued 
such a scene as no pen can describe and no imagi- 
nation paint. The awful conflagration converted all the 
ministers of pleasure into messengers of death. 
Thousands of rockets filled the air, and, with almost 
the velocity of lightning, pierced their way through 
the shrieking, struggling, terror-stricken crowd. Fiery 
serpents, more terrible, more deadly than the fabled 
dragons of old, hissed through the air, clung to the 
dresses of the ladies, enveloping them in flames, and 
mercilessly burning the flesh to the bone. Mines ex- 
ploded under the hoofs of the horses, scattering de- 
struction and death on every side. Every species of 
fire was rained down, a horrible tempest, upon the 
immovable mass. Shrieks from the wounded and the 
dying filled the air; and the mighty multitude swayed 
to and fro, in Herculean, yet unavailing efforts to es- 

M. ofH.— I— 4 



50 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1770 

cape. The horses, maddened with terror, reared and 
plunged, crushing indiscriminately beneath their tread 
the hmbs of the fallen. The young bride, in her car- 
riage, with a brilliant retinue, and eager to witness 
the splendor of the anticipated fete, had just ap- 
proached the Place, when she was struck with con- 
sternation at the shrieks of death which filled the air, 
and at the scene of tumult and terror which sur- 
rounded her. The horses were immediately turned, 
and driven back again with the utmost speed to the 
palace. But the awful cries of the dying followed 
her; and it was long ere she could efface from her 
distracted imagination the impression of that hour of 
horror. Fifty-three persons were killed outright by 
this sad casualty, and more than three hundred were 
dangerously wounded. The dauphin and dauphiness 
immediately sent their whole income for the year to 
the unfortunate relatives of those who had perished 
on that disastrous day. 

The old king was exceedingly pleased with the 
beauty and fascinating frankness and cordiality of 
Maria. He made her many magnificent presents, and, 
among others, was a magnificent collar of pearls, the 
smallest of which was nearly as large as a walnut, 
which had been brought into France by Anne of 
Austria. These praises and attentions on the part of 
the king excited the jealousy of the petted favorite, 
Madame du Barri. She consequently became, with 



lyyo] BRIDAL DAYS 51 

the party under her influence, the relentless and un- 
principled enemy of Maria. She lost no opportunity 
to traduce her character. She spread reports every 
where that Maria hated the French; that she was an 
Austrian in heart; that her frankness and freedom 
from the restraints of etiquette were the result of an 
immoral and depraved mind. She exaggerated her 
extravagance, and accused her, by whispers and in- 
sinuations spread far and near, of the most ignoble 
crimes of which woman can be guilty. The young 
and inexperienced dauphiness soon found herself in- 
volved in most embarrassing difficulties. She had no 
kind friend to council her. Louis still remained cold, 
distant, and reserved. Thus, week after week, month 
after month, year after year passed on, and for eight 
years Louis never approached his youthful spouse 
with any manifestation of confidence and affection 
but those with which he would regard a mother or 
a sister. Maria was a wife but in name. She did 
not share his apartment or his couch. Though deeply 
wounded by this inexplicable neglect, she seldom 
spoke of it even to her most intimate friends. The 
involuntary sigh, and the tear which often moistened 
her cheek, proclaimed her inward sufferings. 

When Maria first arrived in France, the Countess 
de Noailles was assigned to her as her lady of honor. 
She was somewhat advanced in life, haughty and 
ceremonious, a perfect mistress of that art of etiquette 



52 MARIA ANTOINETTE [fyyo 

so rigidly observed in the French court. Upon her 
devolved the duty of instructing the dauphiness in 
all the punctilios of form, then deemed far more 
important than the requisitions of morality. The 
following anecdote, related by Madame Campan, illus- 
trates the ridiculous excess to which these points of 
etiquette were carried. One winter's day, it hap- 
pened that Maria Antoinette, who was entirely dis- 
robed in her dressing-room, was just going to put on 
her body linen. Madame, the lady in attendance, 
held it ready unfolded for her. The dame d'honneur 
came in. As she was of superior rank, etiquette re- 
quired that she should enjoy the privilege of present- 
ing the robe. She hastily slipped off her gloves, 
took the garment, and at that moment a rustling was 
heard at the door. It was opened, and in came the 
Duchess d'Orleans. She now must be the bearer of 
the garment. But the laws of etiquette would not 
allow the dame d'honneur to hand the Mnen directly 
to the Duchess d'Orleans. It must pass down the 
various grades of rank to the lowest, and be pre- 
sented by her to the highest. The hnen was conse- 
quently passed back again from one to another, till it 
was placed in the hands of the duchess. She was 
just on the point of conveying it to its proper desti- 
nation, when suddenly the door opened, and the 
Countess of Provence entered. Again the linen passed 
from hand to hand, till it reached the hands of the 



i77o] BRIDAL DAYS S3 

countess. She, perceiving the uncomfortable position 
of Maria, who sat shivering with cold, with her 
hands crossed upon her bosom, without stopping to 
remove her gloves, placed the linen upon the shoul- 
ders of the dauphiness. She, however, was quite 
unable to restrain her impatience, and exclaimed, 
"How disagreeable, how tiresome!" 

Another anecdote illustrates the character of Ma- 
dame de Noailles, who exerted so powerful an influ- 
ence upon the destiny of Maria Antoinette. She was 
a woman of severe manners, but etiquette was the 
very atmosphere she breathed; it was the soul of her 
existence. The slightest infringement of the rules of 
etiquette annoyed her almost beyond endurance. 
"One day," says Madame Campan, "I unintentionally 
threw the poor lady into a terrible agony. The 
queen was receiving, I know not whom — some per- 
sons just presented, I believe. The ladies of the bed- 
chamber were behind the queen. I was near the 
throne, with the two ladies on duty. All was right; 
at least I thought so. Suddenly I perceived the eyes 
of Madame de Noailles fixed on mine. She made a 
sign with her head, and then raised her eyebrows to 
the top of her forehead, lowered them, raised them 
again, and then began to make little signs with her 
hand. From all this pantomime, I could easily per- 
ceive that something was not as it should be; and as 
I looked about on all sides to find out what it was, 



54 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1770 

the agitation of the countess kept increasing. Maria 
Antoinette, who perceived all this, looked at me with 
a smile. I found means to approach her, and she 
said to me, in a whisper, ' Let down your lappets, or 
the countess will expire.' All this bustle rose from 
two unlucky pins, which fastened up my lappets, 
while the etiquette of costume said lappets hanging 
down." 

One can easily imagine the contempt with which 
Maria, reared in the freedom of the Austrian court, 
would regard these punctilios. She did not refrain 
from treating them with good-natured but unsparing 
ridicule, and thus she often deeply offended those stiff 
elderly ladies, who regarded these trifles, which they 
had been studying all their lives, with almost religious 
awe. She gave Madame de Noailles the nickname of 
Madame Etiquette, to the great merriment of some 
of the courtiers and the great indignation of others. 
The more grave and stately matrons were greatly 
shocked by these indiscretions on the part of the 
mirth-loving queen. 

On one occasion, when a number of noble ladies 
were presented to Maria, the ludicrous appearance of 
the venerable dowagers, with their little black bon- 
nets with great wings, and the entire of their gro- 
tesque dress and evolutions, appealed so impressively 
to Maria's sense of the ridiculous, that she, with the 
utmost difficulty, refrained from open laughter. But 



lyyo] BRIDAL DAYS 55 

when a young marchioness, full of fun and frolic, 
whose office required that she should continue stand- 
ing behind the queen, being tired of the ceremony, 
seated herself upon the floor, and, concealed behind 
the fence of the enormous hoops of the attendant 
ladies, began to play off all imaginable pranks with 
the ladies' hoops, and with the muscles of her own 
face, the contrast between these childish frolics and 
the stately dignity of the old dowagers so discon- 
certed the fun-loving Maria, that, notwithstanding all 
her efforts at self-control, she could not conceal an 
occasional smile. The old ladies were shocked and 
enraged. They declared that she had treated them 
with derision, that she had no sense of decorum, and 
that not one of them would ever attend her court 
again. The next morning a song appeared, full of 
bitterness, which was spread through Paris. The fol- 
lowing was the chorus: 

"Little queen! you must not be 
So saucy with your twenty years 
Your ill-used courtiers soon will see 
You pass once more the barriers." 

While Madame de Noailles was thus torturing 
Maria Antoinette, with her exactions, the Abbe de 
Vermond, on the contrary, was exerting all the strong 
influence he had acquired over her mind to induce 
her to despise these requirements of etiquette, and to 



56 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1775 

treat them with open contempt. Maria Theresa, in 
the spirit of independence which ever characterizes a 
strong mind, ordinarily lived like any other lady at- 
tending energetically to her duties without any osten- 
tation. She would ride through the streets of Vienna 
unaccompanied by any retinue; and the other mem- 
bers of the royal family,- on all ordinary occasions, 
dispensed with the pomp and splendors of royalty. 
Maria Antoinette's education and natural disposition 
led her to adhere to the customs of the court of her 
ancestors. Thus was she incessantly annoyed by the 
diverse influences crowding upon her. Following, 
however, the bent of her own inclinations, she daily 
made herself more and more unpopular with the 
haughty dames who surrounded her. 

It was a very great anno^^ance to Maria that she 
was compelled to dine every day as a public spec- 
tacle. It must seem almost incredible to an American 
reader that such a custom could ever have existed in 
France, The arrangement was this. The different 
members of the royal family dined in different apart- 
ments: the king and queen, with such as were ad- 
mitted to their table, in one room, the dauphin and 
dauphiness in another, and other members of the 
royal family in another. Portions of these rooms 
were railed off, as in court-houses, police rooms, and 
menageries, for spectators. The good, honest people 
from the country, after visiting the menageries to see 



1775] BRIDAL DAYS 57 

the lions, tigers, and monkeys fed, hastened to the 
palace to see the king and queen take their soup. 
They were always especially delighted with the skill 
with which Louis XV. would strike off the top of his 
egg with one blow of his fork. This was the most 
valuable accomplishment the monarch over thirty mil- 
lions of people possessed, and the one in which he 
chiefly gloried. The spectators entered at one door 
and passed out at another. No respectably dressed 
person was refused admission. The consequence was, 
that during the dining hour an interminable throng 
was pouring through the apartment; those in the ad- 
vance crowded slowly along by those in the rear, and 
all eyes riveted upon the royal feeders. The mem- 
bers of the royal family of France, accustomed to this 
practice from infancy, did not regard it at all. To 
Maria Antoinette it was, however, excessively annoy- 
ing, and though she submitted to it while she was 
dauphiness, as soon as she ascended the throne she 
discontinued the practice. The people felt that they 
were thus deprived of one of their inalienable privi- 
leges, and murmurs loud and angry rose against the 
innovating Austrian. 

Much of the time of Louis and his bride was 
passed at the palaces of Versailles. This renowned 
residence of the royal family of France is situated 
about ten miles from Paris, in the midst of an exten- 
sive plain. Until the middle of the seventeenth cen- 



58 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1775 

tury it was only a small village. At this time Louis 
XIV. determined to erect upon this solitary spot a 
residence worthy of the grandeur of his throne. 
Seven years were employed in completing the palace, 
garden, and park. No expense was spared by him 
or his successors to render it the most magnificent 
residence in Europe. No regal mansion or city can 
boast a greater display of reservoirs, fountains, gar- 
dens, groves, cascades, and the various other embel- 
lishments and appliances of pleasure. The situation 
of the principal palace is on a gentle elevation. Its 
front and wings are of polished stone, ornamented 
with statues, and a colonnade of the Doric order is 
in the center. The grand hall is about two hundred 
and twenty feet in length, with costly decorations in 
marble, paintings, and gilding. The other apartments 
are of corresponding size and elegance. This beauti- 
ful structure is approached by three magnificent ave- 
nues, shaded by stately trees, leading respectively from 
Paris, St. Cloud, and Versailles. 

This gorgeous mansion of the monarchs of France 
presents a front eight hundred feet in length, and has 
connected with it fifteen projecting buildings of spa- 
cious dimensions, decorated with Ionic columns and 
pilasters, constituting almost a city in itself. One 
great gallery, adorned with statuary, paintings, and 
architectural embellishments, is two hundred and 
thirty-two feet long, thirty broad, and thirty-seven 



1775] BRIDAL DAYS 59 

high, and lighted by seventeen large windows. Many 
gorgeous saloons, furnished with the most costly 
splendor, a banqueting-room of the most spacious di- 
mensions, where luxurious kings have long rioted in 
midnight revels, an opera house and a chapel, whose 
beautifully fluted pillars support a dome which is the 
admiration of all who look up upon its graceful 
beauty, combine to lend attractions to these royal 
abodes such as few other earthly mansions can rival, 
and none, perhaps, eclipse. The gardens, in the midst 
of which this voluptuous residence reposes, are equal 
in splendor to the palace they are intended to adorn. 
Here the kings of France had rioted in boundless pro- 
fusion, and every conceivable appliance of pleasure 
was collected in these abodes, from which all thoughts 
of retribution were studiously excluded. The expense 
incurred in rearing and embellishing this princely 
structure has amounted to uncounted millions. But 
we must not forget that these millions were wrested 
from the toiling multitude, who dwelt in mud hovels, 
and ate the coarsest food, that their proud and licen- 
tious rulers might be "clothed in purple and fine 
linen, and fare sumptuously every day." Such was 
the home to which the beautiful Maria Antoinette, the 
bride of fifteen, was introduced; and in the midst of 
temptations to which such voluptuousness exposed 
her, she entered upon her dark and gloomy career. 
This, however, was but one of her abodes. It was 



6o MARIA ANTOINETTE [1775 

but one even of her country seats. At Versailles there 
were other palaces, in the construction and the em- 
bellishment of which the revenues of the kingdom 
had been lavished and in whose luxurious chambers 
all the laws of God had been openly set at defiance 
by those earthly kings who ever forgot that there was 
one enthroned above them as the King of kings. 

Within the circuit of the park are two smaller 
palaces, called the Great and the Little Trianon. These 
may be called royal residences in miniature; seats to 
which the king and queen retired when desirous of 
laying aside their rank and state. The Little Trianon 
was a beautiful palace, about eighty feet square. It 
was built by Louis XV. for Madame du Barri. Its 
architectural style was that of a Roman pavihon, and 
it was surrounded with gardens ornamented in the 
highest attainments of French and English art, diversi- 
fied with temples, cottages, and cascades. This was 
the favorite retreat of Maria Antoinette. This she re- 
garded as peculiarly her home. Here she was for a 
time comparatively happy. Though living in the midst 
of all the jealousies, and intrigues, and bickerings of^ 
a court, and though in heart deeply pained by the 
strange indifference and neglect which her husband 
manifested toward her person, the buoyancy of her 
youthful spirit enabled her to triumph, in a manner, 
over those influences of depression, and she was the 
life and the ornament of every gay scene. As her 



1775] BRIDAL DAYS 6i 

mind had been but little cultivated, she had but few 
resources within herself to dispel that ennui which 
is the great foe of the votaries of fashion; and un- 
conscious of any other sources of enjoyment, she 
plunged with all the zest of novelty into an incessant 
round of balls, operas, theaters, and masquerades. 
Her mind, by nature, was one of the noblest texture, 
and by suitable culture might have exulted in the ap- 
preciation of all that is beautiful and sublime in the 
world of nature and in the realms of thought. She 
loved the retirement of the Little Trianon. She loved, 
in the comparative quietude of that miniature palace, 
of that royal home, to shake off all the restraints of 
regal state, and to live with a few choice friends in 
the freedom of a private lady. Unattended she ram- 
bled among the flowers of the garden; and in the 
bright moonlight, leaning upon the arm of a female 
friend, she forgot, as she gazed upon the moon, and 
the stars, and all the somber glories of the night, that 
she was a queen, and rejoiced in those emotions com- 
mon to every ennobled spirit. Here she often lin- 
gered in the midst of congenial joys, till the mur- 
murs of courtiers drew her away to the more exciting, 
but far less satisfying scenes of fashionable pleasure. 
She often lamented bitterly, and even with tears, her 
want of intellectual cultivation, and so painfully felt 
her inferiority when in the society of ladies of intelli- 
gence and highly-disciplined minds, that she sought 



62 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1775 

to surround herself with those whose tastes were no 
more intellectual than her own. "What a resource," 
she once exclaimed, "amid the casualties of life, is a 
well-cultivated mind! One can then be one's own 
companion, and find society in one's own thoughts." 
Here, in her Little Trianon, she made several unavail- 
ing attempts to retrieve, by study, those hours of 
childhood which had been lost. But it was too late. 
For a few days, with great zeal and self-denial, she 
would persevere in secluding herself in the library 
with her books. But it was in vain for the Queen of 
France to strive again to become a school-girl. Those 
days had passed forever. The innumerable interrup- 
tions of her station frustrated all her endeavors, and 
she was compelled to abandon the attempt in sorrow 
and despair. We know not upon how trivial events 
the great destinies of the world are suspended; and 
had the Queen of France possessed a highly-disciplined 
mind — had she been familiar with the teachings of 
history, and been capable of inspiring respect by her 
intellectual attainments, it is far from impossible that 
she might have lived and died in peace. But almost 
the only hours of enjoyment which shone upon Maria 
while Queen of France, was when she forgot that she 
was a queen, and, like a village maiden, loitered 
through the gardens and the groves in the midst of 
which the Little Trianon was embowered. 

The enemies of Maria had sedulously endeavored 



1775] BRIDAL DAYS 63 

to spread the report through France that she was 
still in heart an Austrian; that she loved only the 
country she had left, and that she had no affection 
for the country over which she was to reign as 
queen. They falsely and malignantly spread the re- 
port that she had changed the name of Little Trianon 
into Little Vienna. The rumor spread rapidly. It 
excited great displeasure. The indignant denials of 
Maria were disregarded. Thus the number of her 
enemies was steadily increasing. 

Another unfortunate occurrence took place, which 
rendered her still more unpopular at court. Her 
brother Maximilian, a vain and foolish young man, 
made a visit to his sister at the court of Versailles, 
not traveling in his own proper rank, but under an as- 
sumed name. It was quite common with princes 
of the blood-royal, for various reasons, thus to travel. 
The young Austrian prince insisted that the first visit 
was due to him from the princes of the royal family 
in France. They, on the contrary, insisted that, as he 
was not traveling in his own name, and in the 
recognition of his own proper rank, it was their duty 
to regard him as of the character he had assumed, 
and as this was of a rank inferior to that of a royal 
prince, it could not be their duty to pay the first 
visit. The dispute ran high. Maria, seconded by the 
Abbe de Vermond, took the part of her brother. This 
greatly offended many of the highest nobility of the 



64 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1775 

realm. It became a family quarrel of great bitter- 
ness. A thousand tongues were busy whispering 
malicious accusations against Maria. Ribald songs to 
sully her name were hawked through the streets. 
Care began to press heavily upon the brow of the 
dauphiness, and sorrow to spread its pallor over her 
cheek. Her high spirit could not brook the humility 
of endeavoring the refutation of the calumnies urged 
against her. Still, she was too sensitive not to feel 
them often with the intensest anguish. Her husband 
was comparatively a stranger to her. He bowed to 
her with much civility when they met, but never ad- 
dressed her with a word or gesture of tenderness, or 
manifested the least desire to see her alone. One 
evening, when walking in the garden of Little 
Trianon, he astonished the courtiers, and almost over- 
powered Maria with delightful emotions, by offering 
her his arm. This was the most affectionate act 
with which he had ever approached her. Such were 
the bridal days of Maria Antoinette. 




CHAPTER III. 
Maria Antoinette Enthroned. 

Louis XV. seized with small-pox. — Flight of the courtiers. — The Marchioness 
du Pompadour. — Her dissolute character. — Debauchery of I<ouis XV. — 
He squanders the public revenue. — Remorse of the king. — The lamp at 
the window. — Death of I,ouis XV. — Indecent haste of the courtiers. — 
Emotions of the young king and queen. — Homage of the courtiers. — 
Burial of Louis XV. — The king and queen leave Versailles. — The coro- 
nation. — Enthusiasm of the people. — Maria's grief. — The king's es- 
trangement. — The little peasant boy. — Becomes a monster of ingrat- 
itude. — The queen's traducers. — The heron's plume. — Vile slanders. — 
Profligate character of De Lauzun. — A life of pleasure. — Maria's im- 
prudence. — Night adventure in a hackney-coach. — The gardens of 
Marly. — Their unrivaled splendor. — Maria's visits to Marly. — Heartless 
gayety. — Sunrise at Marly. — More food for slander. — Simple habits of 
the queen. — Horror of the courtiers and dowagers. — Sleigh riding. — 
Blind man's buff and other games. — Dramatic entertainments. — Increas- 
ing affection of the king. — Efforts to alienate the king's affections. — Ag- 
itation of the queen. — Maria's children. — Royal visitors. — Extravagant 
expenditures. — Rising di.scontents. — La Fayette and Franklin. — The 
people begin to count the costs.— Letter from the Empress Catharine. 
— The clouds thicken. 

IN THE year 1774, about four years after the mar- 
riage of Maria Antoinette and Louis, tiie disso- 
lute old king, Louis XV., in his palace at Ver- 
sailles, surrounded by his courtiers and his lawless 
pleasures, was taken sick. The disease soon devel- 
oped itself as the small-pox in its most virulent form. 

M. ofH.— 1— 5 (65) 



66 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1774 

The physicians, knowing the terror with which the 
conscience-smitten monarch regarded death, feared to 
inform him of the nature of his disease. 

"What are these pimples," inquired the king, 
"which are breaking out all over my body?" 

"They are little pustules," was the reply, "which 
require three days in forming, three in suppurating, 
and three in drying." 

The dreadful malady which had seized upon the 
king was soon, however, known throughout the court, 
and all fled from the infection. The miserable mon- 
arch, hated by his subjects, despised by his courtiers, 
and writhing under the scorpion lash of his own con- 
science, was left to groan and die alone. It was a 
horrible termination of a most loathsome life. 

The vices of Louis XV. sowed the seeds of the 
French Revolution. Two dissolute women, notorious 
on the page of history, each, in their turn, governed 
him and France. The Marchioness de Pompadour 
was his first favorite. Ambitious, shrewd, unprinci- 
pled, and avaricious, she held the weak-minded king 
entirely under her control, and spread throughout the 
court an influence so contaminating that the whole 
efnpire was infected with the demoralization. Upon 
this woman he squandered almost the revenues of the 
kingdom. The celebrated Pare au Cerf, the scene of 
almost unparalleled voluptuousness, was reared for her 
at an expense of twenty millions of dollars. After 



1774] ENTHRONED 67 

her charms had faded, she still contrived to retain her 
political influence over the pliant monarch, until she 
died, at the age of forty-four, universally detested. 

Madame du Barri, of whom v^e have before spoken, 
succeeded the Marchioness de Pompadour in this post 
of infamy. The king lavished upon her, in the short 
space of eight years, more than ten millions of dollars. 
For her he erected the Little Trianon, with its gar- 
dens, parks, and fountains, a temple of pleasure ded- 
icated to lawless passion. The king had totally 
neglected the interests of his majestic empire, con- 
secrating every moment of time to his own sensual 
gratification. The revenues of the realm were squan- 
dered in the profligacy and carousings of his court. 
The people were regarded merely as servants who 
were to toil to minister to the voluptuous indulgence 
of their masters. They lived in penury, that kings, 
and queens, and courtiers might revel in all imagina- 
ble magnificence and luxury. This was the ultimate 
cause of that terrible outbreak which eventually 
crushed Maria Antoinette beneath the ruins of the 
French monarchy. Louis XV., in his shameless de- 
baucheries, not only expended every dollar upon 
which he could lay his hands, but at his death left 
the kingdom involved in a debt of four hundred mil- 
lions of dollars, which was to be paid from the 
scanty earnings of peasants and artisans whose con- 
dition was hardly superior to that of the enslaved 



68 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1774 

laborers on the plantations of Carolina and Louisiana. 
But I am wandering from my story. 

In a chamber of the palace of the Little Trianon 
we left the king dying of the confluent small-pox. 
The courtiers have fled in consternation. It is the 
hour of midnight, the loth of May, 1774. The mon- 
arch of France is alone as he struggles with the king 
of terrors. No attendants linger around him. Two 
old women, in an adjoining apartment, occasionally 
look in upon the mass of corruption upon the royal 
couch, which had already lost every semblance of hu- 
manity. The eye is blinded. The swollen tongue 
can not articulate. What thought of remorse or ter- 
ror may be rioting through the soul of the dying 
king, no one knows, and — no one cares. A lamp 
flickers at the window, which is a signal to those at 
a safe distance that the king still lives. Its feeble 
flame is to be extinguished the moment life departs. 
The courtiers, from the windows of the distant pal- 
ace, watch with the most intense solicitude the glim- 
mering of that midnight taper. Should the king re- 
cover, they dreaded the reproach of having deserted 
him in the hour of his extremity. They hope, so 
earnestly, that he may not live. Should he die, they 
are anxious to be the first in their congratulations to 
the new king and queen. The hours of the night lin- 
ger wearily away as expectant courtiers gaze impa- 
tiently through the gloom upon that dim torch. The 



1774] ENTHRONED 69 

horses are harnessed in the carriages, and waiting at the 
doors, that the courtiers, without the loss of a mo- 
ment, may rush to do homage to the new sovereign. 

The clock was toUing the hour of twelve at night 
when the lamp was extinguished. The miserable 
king had ceased to breathe. The ensuing scene no 
pen can delineate or pencil paint. The courtiers, to- 
tally forgetful of French etiquette, rushed down the 
stairs, crowded into their carriages, and the silence of 
night was disturbed by the clattering of the horses' 
hoofs, as they were urged, at their utmost speed, to 
the apartments of the dauphin. 

There Maria Antoinette and Louis, with a few fam- 
ily friends, were waiting the anticipated intelligence 
of the death of their grandfather the king. Though 
neither of them could have cherished any feelings of 
affection for the dissolute old monarch, it was an 
hour to awaken in the soul emotions of the deepest 
melancholy. Death had approached, in the most 
frightful form, the spot on earth where, probably, of 
all others, he was most dreaded. Suddenly a noise 
was heard, as of thunder, in the ante-chamber of the 
dauphin. It was the rush of the courtiers from the dead 
monarch to bow at the shrine of the new dispensers 
of wealth and power. This extraordinary tumult, in the 
silence of midnight, conveyed to Maria and Louis the 
first intelligence that the crown of France had fallen 
upon their brows, Louis was then twenty-four years 



yo MARIA ANTOINETTE [1774 

of age, modest, timid, and conscientious. Maria was 
twenty, mirthful, thoughtless, and shrinking from re- 
sponsibility. They were both overwhelmed, and, fall- 
ing upon their knees, exclaimed, with gushing tears, 
"O God! guide us, protect us; we are too young to 
govern." 

The Countess de Noailles was the first to salute 
Maria Antoinette as Queen of France. She entered 
the private saloon in which they were sitting, and 
requested their majesties to enter the grand audience 
hall, where the princes and all the great officers of 
state were anxious to do homage to their new sov- 
ereigns. Maria Antoinette, leaning upon her husband's 
arm, and with her handkerchief held to her eyes, 
which were bathed in tears, received these first ex- 
pressions of loyalty. There was, however, not an 
individual found to mourn . for the departed king. 
No one was willing to endanger his safety by any 
act of respect toward his remains. The laws of 
France required that the chief surgeon should open 
the body of the departed monarch and embalm it, and 
that the first gentleman of the bed-chamber should 
hold the head while the operation was performed. 

"You will see the body properly embalmed?" 
said the gentleman of the bed-chamber to the sur- 
geon. 

"Certainly," was the reply; "and you will hold 
the head?" 



1774] ENTHRONED 71 

Each bowed politely to the other, without the ex- 
change of another word. The body, unopened and 
unembalmed, was placed by a few under servants in a 
coffin, which was filled with the spirits of wine, and 
hurried, without an attendant mourner to the tomb. 
Such was the earthly end of Louis XV. in an hour -^ 
he was forgotten, or remembered but to be despised. 

At four o'clock of that same morning, the young 
king and queen, with the whole court in retinue, 
left Versailles, in their carriages, for Choisy. The 
morning was cold, dark, and cheerless. The awful 
death of the king, and the succeeding excitements, 
had impressed the company with gloom. Maria An- 
toinette rode in the carriage with her husband, and 
with one or two other members of the royal family. 
For some time they rode in silence, Maria, a child of 
impulse, weeping profusely from the emotions which 
moved her soul. Bat, ere long, the morning dawned. 
The sun rose bright and clear over the hills of France, 
and the whole beautiful landscape glittered in the 
light of the most lovely of spring mornings. Insen- 
sibly the gloom of the mind departed with the gloom 
of night. Conversation commenced. The mournful 
past was forgotten in anticipation of the bright future. 
Some jocular remark of the young king's sister elic- 
ited a general burst of laughter, when, by common 
consent, they wiped away their tears, banished all 
funereal looks, and, a merry party, rode merrily along, 



72 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1774 

over hill and aaie, to a crown and a throne. Little 
did they dream that these sunny hours and this flow- 
ery path but conducted them to a dungeon and the 
guillotine. 

The coronation soon took place at Rheims, with 
the greatest display of festive magnificence. The 
novelty of a new reign, with a youthful king and 
queen, elated the versatile French, and loud and en- 
thusiastic were the acclamations with which Louis 
and Maria Antoinette were greeted wherever they ap- 
peared. They were both, for a time, very popular 
with the nation at large, though there was in the 
court a party hostile to the queen, who took advan- 
tage of every act of indiscretion to traduce her char- 
acter and to expose her to ignominy. In these 
efforts they succeeded so effectually as to overwhelm 
themselves in the same ruin which they had brought 
upon their victim. A deep-seated but secret grief 
still preyed upon the heart of Maria. Though four 
years since her marriage had now passed away, she 
was still comparatively a stranger to her husband. 
He treated her with respect, with politeness, but 
with cold reserve, never approaching her as his wife. 
The queen, possessing naturally a very affectionate 
disposition, was extremely fond of children. Despair- 
ing of ever becoming a mother herself, she thought 
of adopting some pleasant child to be her playmate 
and friend. One day as she was riding in her car- 



1774] ENTHRONED 73 

riage, a beautiful little peasant boy, about five years 
of age, with large blue eyes and flaxen hair, got 
under the feet of the horses, though he was extricated 
without having received any injury. As the grand- 
mother rushed from the cottage door to take the 
child, the queen, standing up in her carriage, ex- 
tended her arms to the old woman, and said, 

"The child is mine. God has given it to me to 
rear and to cherish. Is his mother alive .^" 

**No, madame!" was the reply of the old woman. 
"My daughter died last winter, and left five small 
children upon my hands." 

"I will take this one," said the queen, "and will 
also provide for all the rest. Will you consent?" 

"Indeed, madame," exclaimed the cottager, "they 
are too fortunate. But I fear Jemmie will not stay 
with you. He is very wayward." 

The postillion handed Jemmie to the queen in the 
carriage, and she, taking him upon her knee, ordered 
the coachman to drive immediately to the palace. 
The ride, however, was any thing but a pleasant 
one, for the ungoverned boy screamed and kicked 
with the utmost violence during the whole of the 
way. The queen was quite elated with her treasure; 
for the boy was extremely beautiful, and he was soon 
seen frolicking around her in a white frock trimmed 
with lace, a rose-colored sash, with silver fringe, and 
a hat decorated with feathers. I may here mention 



74 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1774 

that the petted favorite grew up into a monster of 
ingratitude, and became one of the most sanguinary 
actors in the scenes of terror which subsequently en- 
sued. 

One would think that the enemies of Maria Antoi- 
nette could hardly take advantage of this circumstance 
to her injury; but they atrociously affirmed that this 
child was her own unacknowledged offspring, whose 
ignominious birth she had concealed. They represented 
the whole adventure but a piece of trickery on her 
part, to obtain, without suspicion, possession of her 
own child. Such accusations were borne upon the 
wings of every wind throughout Europe, and the 
deeply-injured queen could only submit in silence. 

Another little incident, equally trivial, was mag- 
nified into the grossest of crimes. The Duke de Lau- 
zun appeared one evening at an entertainment with a 
very magnificent plume of white heron's, feathers. 
The queen casually expressed her admiration of its 
beauty. A lady immediately reported to the duke 
the remarks of the queen, and assured him that it 
would be a great gratification to her majesty to re- 
ceive a present of the plume. He, the next morning, 
sent the plume to the queen. She was quite em- 
barrassed, being unwilling to accept the plume, and 
yet fearing to wound the feelings of the duke by re- 
fusing the present. She, on the whole, however, con- 
cluded to retain it, and wore it once, that she might 



1775] ENTHRONED 75 

not seem to scorn the present, and then laid it aside. 
It is difficult to conceive how the queen could have 
conducted herself more discreetly in the affair. Such 
was the story of "The Heron's Plume." It was, how- 
ever, maliciously reported through Paris that the 
queen was indecently receiving presents from gentle- 
men as her lovers. "The Heron's Plume" figured 
conspicuously in many a satire in prose and verse. 
These shafts, thrown from a thousand unseen hands, 
pierced Maria Antoinette to the heart. This same 
Duke de Lauzun, a man of noted profligacy, subse- 
quently became one of the most unrelenting foes of 
the queen. He followed La Fayette to America, and 
then returned to Paris, to plunge, with the most 
reckless gayety, into the whirlpool of human passions 
boiling and whirling there. In the conflict of parties 
he became a victim. Condemned to death, he was 
imprisoned in the Conciergerie. Imbruted by athe- 
ism, he entered his cell with a merry song and a 
joke. He furnished a sumptuous repast for the pris- 
oners at the hour appointed for his execution, and 
invited the jailers for his guests. When the execu- 
tioners arrived, he smilingly accosted them. "Gen- 
tlemen, I am very happy to see you; just allow me 
to finish these nice oysters." Then very politely tak- 
ing a decanter of wine, he said, "Your duties will 
be quite arduous to-day, gentlemen; allow me the 
pleasure of taking a glass of wine with you." Thus 



76 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1775 

merrily he ascended the cart, and beguiled the ride 
from the prison to the guillotine with the most care- 
less pleasantries. Gayly tripping up the steps, he 
placed himself in the fatal instrument, and a smile 
was upon his Hps, and mirthful words were falling 
upon the ears of the executioners, when the slide fell, 
and he was silent in death. That soul must indeed 
be ignoble which can thus enter the dread unseen of 
futurity. 

There is no end to these acts of injustice inflicted 
upon the queen. The influences which had ever sur- 
rounded her had made her very fond of dress and 
gayety. She was devoted to a life of pleasure, and 
was hardly conscious that there was any thing 
else to live for. In fetes, balls, theaters, operas, and 
masquerades, she passed night after night. Such was 
the only occupation of her life. The king, on the 
contrary, had no taste for any of these amusements. 
Uncompanionable and retiring, he lived with his 
books, and in his workshop making trinkets for 
children. Always retiring to rest at the early hour 
of eleven o'clock precisely, he left the queen to pursue 
her pleasures until the dawn of the morning, unat- 
tended by him. It was very imprudent in Maria An- 
toinette thus to expose herself to the whispers of 
calumny. She was young, inexperienced, and had 
no judicious advisers. 

One evening, she had been out in her carriage, 



1775] ENTHRONED 77 

and was returning at rather a late hour, the lady of 
the palace being with her, when her carriage broke 
down at her entrance into Paris. The queen and the 
duchess were both masked, and, stepping into an 
adjoining shop, as they were unknown, the queen 
ordered one of the footmen to call a common hack- 
ney-coach, and they, both entering, drove to the 
opera-house, with very much the same sense of the 
ludicrous in being found in so plebeian a vehicle, as a 
New York lady would feel on passing through Broad- 
way in a hand-cart or on a wheel-barrow. The fun- 
loving queen was so entertained with the whimsical 
adventure, that she could not refrain from exclaiming, 
as soon as she entered the opera-house, to the inti- 
mate friends she met there, "Only think! I came to 
the opera in a hackney-coach! Was it not droll? was 
it not droll.?" The news of the indiscretion spread. 
All Paris was full of the adventure. Rumor, with her 
thousand tongues, added innumerable embellishments. 
Neither the delicacy nor the dignity of the queen 
would allow her seriously to attempt the refutation of 
the calumny that, neglected by her husband, she had 
been out in disguise to meet a nobleman renowned 
for his gallantries. 

Nothing can be more irksome than the frivolities of 
fashionable life. To spend night after night, of months 
and years, in an incessant round of the same trivial 
gayeties, so exhausts all the susceptibilities of enjoy- 



78 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1775 

ment that life itself becomes a burden. Louis XIV. 
had created for himself a sort of elysium of voluptu- 
ousness in the celebrated gardens of Marly. Spread 
out upon the gentle declivity of an extended hill were 
grounds embellished in the highest style of art, and 
intended to rival the garden of Eden itself in every 
conceivable attraction. Pavilions of gorgeous architec- 
ture crowned the summit of the hill. Flowers, groves, 
enchanting walks, and statues of most voluptuous 
beauty, fountains, lakes, cascades foaming over chan- 
nels of whitest marble — all the attractions of nature 
and art were combined to realize the most fanciful 
dreams of splendor and luxury. Pleasure was the 
only god here adored; but, like all false gods, he but 
rewarded his votaries with satiety and disgust. 

The queen, with her brilhant retinue, made a 
monthly visit to these palaces and pleasure-grounds, 
and with music, illumination, and dances, endeavored 
to beguile life of its cares. A noisy concourse, glit- 
tering with diamonds and all the embellishments of 
wealth, thronged the embowered avenues and the 
sumptuous halls. And while the young, in the mazes 
of the dance, and in the uneasy witchery of winning 
and losing hearts, were all engrossed, the old, in the 
still deeper but ignoble passion of desperate gaming, 
forgot gliding time and approaching eternity. But 
the spirit of Maria was soon weary of this heartless 
gayety. Each succeeding visit became more irksome. 



1775] ENTHRONED 79 

and at last, in inexpressible disgust with the weary 
monotony of fashionable dissipation, she declared that 
she would never enter -the gardens of Marly again. 
But she must have some occupation. What shall she 
do to give wings to the lagging hours ? 

''Has your majesty," timidly suggests a lady of 
the court, "ever seen the sun rise?" 

"The sun rise!" exclaimed the queen; "no, never! 
What a beautiful sight it must be! What a romantic 
adventure! we will go to-morrow morning." 

The plan was immediately arranged. The prosaic 
king would take no part in it. He preferred quietly 
to slumber upon his pillow. A few hours after mid- 
night, the queen, with several gentlemen, and her 
attendant ladies, all in high glee, left the palace in 
their carriages to ascend the lofty eminence of the 
gardens of Marly to witness the sublime spectacle. 
Thousands of the humbler classes had already left 
their beds and commenced their daily toil, as the 
brilliant cavalcade swept by them on this novel ex- 
cursion. It was, however, a freak so strange, so un- 
accountable, so contrary to any thing ever known 
before, that this nocturnal party became the theme of 
universal conversation. It was whispered that there 
must have been some mysterious wickedness con- 
nected v/ith an adventure so marvelous. Groups upon 
the Boulevards inquired, "Why is the queen thus 
frolicking at midnight without her husband?" In a 



8o MARIA ANTOINETTE [1775 

few days a ballad appeared, which was sung by the 
vilest lips in the warehouses of infamy> full of the 
most malignant charges against the queen. Maria 
Antoinette was imprudent, very imprudent, and that 
was her only crime. 

Still, the young queen must have amusements. 
She is weary of parade and splendor and seeks in 
simphcity the novelty of enjoyment. Dressed in white 
muslin, with a plain straw hat, and a little switch in 
her hand, she might often be seen walking on foot, 
followed by a single servant, through the embowered 
paths which surrounded the Petit Trianon. Through 
lanes and by-ways she would chase the butterfly, and 
pick flowers free as a peasant girl, and lean over the 
fences to chat with the country maids as they milked 
the cows. This entire freedom from restraint was 
etiquette in the court of Vienna; it was regarded as 
barbarism in the court of Versailles. The courtiers 
were amazed at conduct so unqueenly. The ceremony- 
stricken dowagers were shocked. Paris, France, Eu- 
rope, were filled with stories of the waywardness, 
and eccentricities, and improprieties of the young 
queen. The loud complaints were poured so inces- 
santly in the ear of Maria Theresa, that at last she 
sent a special embassador to Versailles, in disguise, as 
a spy upon her daughter. He reported, "The queen 
is imprudent, that is all." 

There happened, in a winter of unusual inclemency, 



1775] ENTHRONED 81 

a heavy fall of snow. It was a rare sight at Versailles. 
Maria Antoinette, reminded of the merry sleigh rides 
she had enjoyed in the more northern home of her 
childhood, was eager to renew the pleasure. Some 
antiquated sledges were found in the stables. New 
ones, gay and graceful, were constructed. The horses, 
with nodding plumes, and gorgeous caparisons, and 
tinkling bells, dazzled the eyes of the Parisians as they 
swept through the Champs Elysees, drawing their 
loads of lords and ladies enveloped in furs. It was a 
new amusement — an innovation. Envious and angry 
lips declared that "the Austrian, with an Austrian 
heart, was intruding the customs of Vienna upon 
Paris." These ungenerous complaints reached the ear 
of the queen, and she instantly relinquished the 
amusement. 

Still the queen is weary. Time hangs heavily upon 
her hands. All the pleasures of the court have palled 
upon her appetite, and she seeks novelty. She intro- 
duces into the retired apartments of the Little Trianon, 
"blind man's buff," "fox and geese," and other 
similar games, and joins heartily in the fun and the 
frolic. "A queen playing blind man's buff!" Simple- 
tons — and the world is full of simpletons — raised 
their hands and eyes in affected horror. Private dra- 
matic entertainments were got up to relieve the 
tedium of unemployed time. The queen learns her 
part, and appears in the character and costume of a 

M. ofH.— 1— 6 



82 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1778 

peasant girl. Her genius excites much admiration, 
and, intoxicated with this new pleasure, she repeats 
the entertainment, and alike excels in all characters, 
whether comic or tragic. The number of spectators 
is gradually increased. Louis is not exactly pleased 
to see his queen transformed into an actress, even in 
the presence only of the most intimate friends of the 
court. Half jocosely, half seriously, amid the rounds 
of applause with which the royal actress is greeted, 
he hisses. It was deemed extremely derogatory to 
the dignity of the queen that s'he should indulge in 
such amusements, and every gossiping tongue in Paris 
was soon magnifying her indiscretions. 

Eight years had now passed away since the mar- 
riage of Maria Antoinette, and still she was in name 
only, the wife of Louis. She was still a young lady, 
for he had never yet approached her with any famil- 
iarity with which he would not approach any young 
lady of his court. But about this time the king 
gradually manifested more tenderness toward her. 
He began really and tenderly to love her. With tears 
of joy, she confided to her friends the great change 
which had taken place in his conduct. The various 
troubles and embarrassments which began now to 
lower about the throne and to darken their path, 
bound their sympathies more strongly together. 
Strenuous efforts were made to alienate the king from 
the queen by exciting his jealousy. Maria was ac- 



1778] ENTHRONED 83 

cused of the grossest immoralities, and insinuations to 
her injury were ever whispered into the ear of the 
king. 

One morning Madame Campan entered the queen's 
chamber when she was in bed. Several letters were 
lying upon the bed by her side, and she was weeping 
as though her heart would break. She immediately 
exclaimed, covering her swollen eyes with her hands, 
"Oh ! I wish that I were dead ! 1 wish that I were 
dead ! The wretches ! the monsters ! what have I 
done that they should treat me thus ! it would be 
better to kill me at once." Then, throwing her arms 
around the neck of Madame Campan, she burst more 
passionately into tears. All attempts to console her 
were unavailing. Neither was she willing to confide 
the cause of her heartrending grief. After some time 
she regained her usual serenity, and said, with an 
attempted smile, "I know that I have made you very 
uncomfortable this morning, and I must set your poor 
heart at ease. You must have seen, on some fine 
summer's day, a black cloud suddenly appear, and 
threaten to pour down upon the country and lay 
it in waste. The lightest wind drives it away, and 
the blue sky and serene weather are restored. This 
is just the image of what has happened to me this 
morning. 

Notwithstanding, however, these efforts of the ma- 
lignant, the king became daily more and more strongly 



84 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1778 

attached to the queen. In the embarrassments which 
were gathering around him, he felt the support of 
her energetic mind, and looked to her counsel with 
continually increasing confidence. It was about nine 
years after their marriage when their first child was 
born. Three others were subsequently added to their 
family. Two, however, of the children, a son and a 
daughter, died in early childhood, leaving two others, 
Maria Theresa and Louis Charles, to share and to 
magnify those woes which subsequently overwhelmed 
the whole royal family. 

During all these early years of their reign, Ver- 
sailles was their favorite and almost constant abode. 
They were visited occasionally by monarchs from the 
other courts of Europe, whom they entertained with 
the utmost display of royal grandeur. Bonfires and 
illuminations turned night into day in the groves and 
gardens of those gorgeous palaces. Thousands weie 
feasted in boundless profusion. Millions of money 
were expended in the costly amusements of kings, 
and queens, and haughty nobles. The people, by 
whose toil the revenues of the kingdom were fur- 
nished, looked from a humble distance upon the glit- 
tering throng, gliding through the avenues, charioted 
in splendor, and now and then a deep thinker, strug- 
gling against poverty and want, would thus solilo- 
quize: "Why do we thus toil to minister to the 
useless luxury of these our imperious masters ? Why 



1778] ENTHRONED 85 

must I eat black bread, and be clothed in the coars- 
est garments, that these lords and ladies may glitter 
in jewelry and revel in luxury? Why must my 
children toil like bond slaves through life, that the 
children of these nobles may be clothed in purple and 
fine linen, and fare sumptuously every day?" The 
multitude were bewildered by the glare of royalty. 
But here and there a sullen fish-woman, leading her 
ragged, half-starved children, would mumble and 
mutter, and curse the "Austrian," as the beautiful 
queen swept by in her gorgeous equipage. These 
discontents and portentous murmurs were spreading 
rapidly, when neither king, queen, nor courtiers 
dreamed of their existence. 

A few had heard of America, its freedom, its 
equality, its fame even for the poorest, its compe- 
tence. La Fayette had gone to help the Republicans 
crush the crown and the throne. Franklin was in 
Paris, the embassador from America, in garb and de- 
meanor as simple and frugal as the humblest citizen, 
and all Paris gazed upon him with wonder and ad- 
miration. A few bold spirits began to whisper, "Let 
us also have no king." The fires of a volcano were 
kindling under the whole structure of French society, 
it was time that the mighty fabric of corruption 
should be tumbled into the dust. The splendor and 
the extravagance of these royal festivities added but 



86 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1778 

fuel to the flame. The people began to compute the 
expense of bonfires, palaces, equipages, crown jewels, 
and courtiers. It is extremely impertinent, Maria 
thought and said, for the people to meddle in matters 
with which they have no concern. Slaves have no 
right to question the conduct of their masters. It 
was the misfortune of her education, and of the in- 
fluences which ever surrounded her, that she never 
imagined that kings and queens were created for any 
other purpose than to live in luxury. The Empress 
Catharine II. of Russia, as these discontents were 
loud and threatening, wrote to Maria Antoinette a 
letter, in which she says, "Kings and queens ought 
to proceed in their career undisturbed by the cries of 
the people, as the moon pursues her course unim- 
peded by the howHng of dogs." This was then the 
spirit of the throne. 

And now the days of calamity began to grow 
darker. Intrigues were multiplied, involving Maria in 
interminable difficulties. There were instinctive pre- 
sentiments of an approaching storm. Death came into 
the royal palace, and distorted the form of her elder 
son, and by lingering tortures dragged him to the 
grave. And then her little daughter was taken from 
her. Maria watched at the couch of suffering and 
death with maternal anguish. The glowing heart of a 
mother throbbed within the bosom of Maria. The 



1778] ENTHRONED 87 

heartlessness and emptiness of all other pursuits had 
but given intensity to the fervor of a mother's love. 
Though but twenty-three years of age, she had drained 
every cup of pleasure to its dregs. And now she 
began to enter upon a path every year more dark, 
dreary, and desolate. 




CHAPTER IV. 

The Diamond Necklace. 

Remark of Talleyrand. — The Cardinal de Rohan. — Rohan's smuggling oper- 
ations. — He is disgraced.— The Countess I^amotte. — The queen's jewelry. 

— Boehmer, the crown jeweler. — The diamond ear-rings. — Change in 
the queen's life. — The diamond necklace. — The queen inspects the neck- 
lace. — Answer of their majesties, — Bcehmer's embarrassment. — His in- 
terview with the queen. — The queen's remarks. — Bcehmer's confusion. 

— Alleged disposal of the necklace. — Present to the king's son. — Bceh- 
mer's note to the queen. — The queen's perplexity. — Bcehmer's interview 
with Madame Campan. — The necklace again. — The Cardinal de Rohan. 

— Indications of the plot. — Bcehmer's perplexity. — The cardinal's em- 
barrassment. — Bcehmer's terror. — The queen's amazement. — The car- 
dinal before the king and queen. — His agitation. — The queen's indigna- 
tion. — The forged letter. — The cardinal's confused statements. — He 
is arrested. — Arrest of Madame I,amotte. — Great excitement. — The 
queen's anguish. — The cardinal's trial. — The cardinal's acquittal. — Cha- 
grin of the king and queen. — Trial of the Countess I^amotte. — Her cool 
effrontery.— The countess found guilty.— Barbarous sentence.— Brutal 
punishment of the countess. — Her unhappy end. — Innocence of the 
queen. — Of De Rohan's criminality. — The three suppositions. — Influ- 
ence of the first. — The third supposition. — Probably the true one. 

ABOUT this time there occurred an event which, 
though apparently trivial, involved conse- 
quences of the most momentous importance. 
It was merely the fraudulent purchase of a necklace, 
by a profligate woman, in the name of the queen. 
The circumstances were such as to throw all France 
into agitation, and Europe was full of the story. 
"Mind that miserable affair of the necklace," said 
(88) 



1786] THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 89 

Talleyrand; "I should be nowise surprised if it should 
overturn the French monarchy." To understand this 
mysterious occurrence, we must first allude to two 
very important characters implicated in the conspiracy. 
The Cardinal de Rohan, though one of the highest 
dignitaries of the Church, and of the most illustrious 
rank, was a young man of vain and shallow mind, of 
great profligacy of character, and perfectly prodigal in 
squandering, in ostentatious pomp, all the revenues 
within his reach. He had been sent an embassador 
to the court of Vienna. Surrounding himself with a 
retinue of spendthrift gentlemen, he endeavored to 
dazzle the Austrian capital with more than regal mag- 
nificence. Expending six or seven hundred thousand 
dollars in the course of a few months, he soon be- 
came involved in inextricable embarrassments. In the 
extremity of his distress, he took advantage of his 
official station, and engaged in smuggling with so 
much effrontery that he almost inundated the Austrian 
capital with French goods. Maria Theresa was ex- 
tremely displeased, and, without reserve, expressed 
her strong disapproval of his conduct, both as a bishop 
and as an embassador. The cardinal was consequently 
recalled, and, disappointed and mortified, he hovered 
around the court of Versailles, where he was treated 
with the utmost coldness. He was extremely anxious 
again to bask in the beams of royal favor. But the 
queen indignantly repelled all his advances. His proud 



90 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1786 

spirit was nettled to the quick by his disgrace, and 
he was ripe for any desperate adventure to retrieve 
his ruined fortunes. 

There was, at the same time, at Versailles, a very 
beautiful woman, the Countess Lamotte. She traced 
her hneage to the kings of France, and, by her vices, 
struggled to sustain a style of ostentatious gentility. 
She was consumed by an insatiable thirst for recog- 
nized rank and wealth, and she had no conscience to 
interfere, in the slightest degree, with any means 
which might lead to those results. Though some- 
what notorious, as a woman of pleasure, to the court- 
iers who flitted around the throne, the queen had 
never seen her face, and had seldom heard even her 
name. Versailles was too much thronged with such 
characters for any one to attract any special attention. 

Maria Antoinette, in her earlier days, had been ex- 
tremely fond of dress, and particularly of rich jewelry. 
She brought with her from Vienna a large number 
of pearls and diamonds. Upon her accession to the 
throne, she received, of course, all the crown jewels. 
Louis XV. had also presented her with all the jewels 
belonging to his daughter, the dauphiness, who had 
recently died, and also with a very magnificent collar 
of pearls, of a single row, the smallest of which was 
as large as a filbert. The king, her husband, had, 
not long before, presented her with a set of rubies 
and diamonds of a fine water, and with a pair of 



1786] THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 91 

bracelets which cost forty thousand dollars. Boehmer, 
the crown jeweler, had collected, at a great expense, 
six pear-formed diamonds, of prodigious size. They 
were perfectly matched, and of the finest water. 
They were arranged as ear-rings. He offered them to 
the queen for eighty thousand dollars. The young 
and royal bride could not resist the desire of adding 
them, costly as they were, to her casket of gems. 
She, however, economically removed two of the dia- 
monds which formed the tops of the clusters, and re- 
placed them by two of her own. The jeweler con- 
sented to this arrangement, and received the reduced 
price of seventy-two thousand dollars, to be paid in 
equal instalments for five years, from the private 
purse of the queen. Still the queen felt rather uneasy 
in view of her unnecessary purchase. Murmurs of 
her extravagance began to reach her ears. Satiated 
with gayety and weary of jewels, as a child throws 
aside its play-things, Maria Antoinette lost all fond- 
ness for her costly treasures, and began to seek nov- 
elty in the utmost simplicity of attire, and in the most 
artless joys of rural life. Her gorgeous dresses hung 
neglected in their wardrobes. Her gems, "of purest 
ray serene," slept in the darkness of the unopened 
casket. The queen had become a mother, and all 
those warm and noble affections which had been 
diffused and wasted upon frivolities, were now con- 
centrated with intensest ardor upon her children. A 



92 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1786 

new era had dawned upon Maria Antoinette. Her 
soul, by nature exalted, was beginning to find objects 
worthy of its energies. Rapidly she was groping her 
way from the gloom of the most wretched of all lives 
— a life of pleasure and of self-indulgence — to the 
true and ennobhng happiness of benevolence and self- 
sacrifice. 

Boehmer, the jeweler, unaware of the great change 
which had taken place in the character of the queen, 
resolved to form for her the most magnificent neck- 
lace which was ever seen in Europe. He busied 
himself for several years in collecting the most valua- 
ble diamonds circulating in commerce, and thus com- 
posed a necklace of several rows, whose attractions, 
he hoped, would be irresistible to the queen. In the 
purchase of these brilliant gems, the jeweler had ex- 
pended far more than his own fortune. For many of 
them he owed large sums, and his only hope of pay- 
ing these debts was in effecting a sale to the queen. 

Boehmer requested Madame Campan to inform the 
queen what a beautiful necklace he had arranged, 
hoping that she might express a desire to see it. 
This, however, Madame Campan declined doing, as 
she did not wish to tempt the queen to incur the 
expense of three hundred and twenty thousand dol- 
lars, the price of the glittering bawble. Boehmer, 
after endeavoring for some time in vain to get the 
gems exposed to the eye of the queen, induced a 



1786] THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 93 

courtier high in rank to show the superb necklace to 
his majesty. The king, now loving the queen most 
tenderly, wished to see her adorned with this unpar- 
alleled ornament, and sent the case to the queen for 
her inspection. Maria Antoinette replied, that she had 
already as many beautiful diamonds as she desired; 
that jewels were now worn but seldom at court; that 
she could not think it right to encourage so great an 
expense for such ornaments; and that the money they 
would cost would be much better expended in build- 
ing a man-of-war. The king concurred in this pru- 
dent decision, and the diamonds were returned to the 
jeweler from their majesties with this answer: "We 
have more need of ships than of diamonds." 

Bcehmer was in great trouble, and knew not what 
to do. He spent a year in visiting the other courts 
of Europe, hoping to induce some of the sovereigns 
to purchase his necklace, but in vain. Almost in 
despair, he returned again to Versailles, and proposed 
the king should take it, and pay for it partly in instal- 
ments and partly in life annuities. The king men- 
tioned it again to the queen. She replied, that if his 
majesty wished to purchase the necklace, and keep it 
for their daughter, he might do so. But she declared 
that she herself should never be willing to wear it, 
for she could not expose herself to those censures for 
extravagance which she knew would be lavished upon 
her. 



94 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1786 

The jeweler complained loudly and bitterly of his 
misfortune. The necklace having been exhibited all 
over Europe, his troubles were a matter of general 
conversation. After several months of great perplexity 
and anxiety, Bcehmer succeeded in gaining an audience 
of the queen. Passionately throwing himself upon his 
knees before her, clasping his hands and bursting into 
tears, he exclaimed, 

"Madame, I am disgraced and ruined if you do not 
purchase my necklace. I can not out-live my misfor- 
tunes. When I go hence I shall throw myself into 
the river." 

The queen, extremely displeased, said, "Rise, 
BcEhmer! I do not like these rhapsodies; honest men 
have no occasion to fall upon their knees to make 
known their requests. If you were to destroy your- 
self. I should regret you as a madman in whom I had 
taken an interest, but I should not be responsible 
for that misfortune. I not only never ordered the 
article which causes your present despair, but, when- 
ever you have talked to me about fine collections of 
jewels, I have told you that I should not add four 
diamonds to those I already possessed. I told you 
myself that I declined taking the necklace. The king 
wished to give it to me; I refused him in the same 
manner. Then never mention it to me again. Divide 
it, and endeavor to sell it piecemeal, and do not 
drown yourself. I am very angry with you for 



1786] THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 95 

acting this scene of despair in my presence, and 
before this child. Let me never see you behave thus 
again. Go!" 

Boehmer, overwhelmed with confusion, retired, 
and the queen, oppressed with a multitude of gathering 
cares, for some months thought no more of him or 
of his jewels. One day the queen was reposing list- 
lessly upon her couch with Madame Campan and other 
ladies of honor about her, when, suddenly addressing 
Madame Campan, she inquired, 

"Have you ever heard what poor Boehmer did 
with his unfortunate necklace?" 

"I have heard nothing of it since he left you," 
was the reply, "though I often meet him." 

"1 should really like to know how the unfortunate 
man got extricated from his embarrassments," rejoined 
the queen; "and, when you next see him, 1 wish 
you would inquire, as if from your own interest in 
the affair, without any allusion to me, how he dis- 
posed of the article." 

In a few days Madame Campan met Bcehmer, and, 
in reply to her interrogatories, he informed her that 
the sultan at Constantinople had purchased it for the 
favorite sultana. The queen was highly gratified with 
the good fortune of the jeweler, and yet thought it 
very strange how the grand seignior should have pur- 
chased his diamonds at Paris. Matters continued in 
this state for some time, until the baptism of the 



96 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1786 

Duke d'Angouleme, Maria Antoinette's infant son. 
The king made his idolized boy a baptismal present 
of a diamond epaulette and buckles, which he pur- 
chased of Boehmer, and directed him to dehver to the 
queen. As the jeweler presented them, he slipped 
into the queen's hand a letter, in the form of a peti- 
tion, containing the following expression: 

"I am happy to see your majesty in the possession 
of the finest diamonds in Europe; and I entreat your 
majesty not to forget me." 

The queen read this strange note aloud, again and 
again exclaiming, "What does the man mean? He 
must be insane!" She quietly lighted the note at a 
wax taper which was standing near her, and burned 
it, remarking that it was not worth keeping. After- 
ward, as she reflected more upon the enigmatical 
nature of the communication, she deeply regretted 
that she had not preserved the note. She pondered 
the matter deeply and anxiously, and at last said to 
Madame Campan, 

' "The next time you see that man, 1 wish that 
you would tell him that I have lost all taste for dia- 
monds; that I never shall buy another as long as I 
hve; and that, if I had any money to spare, I should 
expend it in purchasing lands to enlarge the grounds 
at St. Cloud." 



1786] THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 97 

A few days after this, Boehmer called upon Ma- 
dame Campan at her country house, extremely uneasy 
at not having received any answer from the queen, 
and anxiously inquired if Madame Campan had no 
commission to him from her majesty. Madame 
Campan faithfully repeated to him all that the queen 
had requested her to say. 

"But," rejoined Boehmer, "the answer to the letter 
I presented to her! To whom must 1 apply for that?" 

"To no one," was the reply; "her majesty burned 
your memorial, without even comprehending its 
meaning." 

"Ah, madame!" exclaimed the man, trembling 
with agitation, "that is impossible; the queen knows 
that she has money to pay me." 

"Money, M. Boehmer!" replied, the lady, "your 
last accounts against the queen were discharged long 
ago." 

"And are you not in the secret?" he rejoined. 
"The queen owes me three hundred thousand dollars, 
and 1 am ruined by her neglect to pay me." 

"Three hundred thousand dollars!" exclaimed 
Madame Campan, in amazement; "man, you have lost 
your senses ! For what does she owe you that enor- 
mous sum ?" 

"For the necklace, madame," replied the jeweler, 
now pale and trembling with the apprehension that 
he had been deceived. 

M. ofH.— I— 7 



98 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1786 

"The necklace again!" said Madame Campan. 
" How long is the queen to be teased about that 
necklace ? Did not you yourself tell me that you had 
sold it at Constantinople?" 

"The queen," added Boehmer, "requested me to 
make that reply to all who inquired upon the sub- 
ject, for she was not willing to have it known that 
she had made the purchase. She, however, had de- 
termined to have the necklace, and sent the Cardinal 
de Rohan to me to take it in her name." 

"You are utterly deceived, Boehmer," Madame 
Campan replied; "the queen knows nothing about 
your necklace. She never speaks even to the Cardi- 
nal de Rohan, and there is no man at court more 
strongly disliked by her." 

"You may depend upon it, madame, that you are 
deceived yourself," rejoined the jeweler. "She must 
hold private interviews with the cardinal, for she gave 
to the cardinal six thousand dollars, which he paid 
me on account, and which he assured me he saw her 
take from the little porcelain secretary next the fire- 
place in her boudoir." 

"Did the cardinal himself assure you of this?" in- 
quired Madame Campan. 

"Yes, madame," was the reply. 

"What a detestable plot! There is not one 
word of truth in it; and you have been miserably 
deceived." 



1786] THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 99 

"I confess," Boehmer rejoined, now trembling in 
every joint, "that I have felt very anxious about it 
for some time; for the cardinal assured me that the 
queen would wear the necklace on Whitsunday. I 
was, however, alarmed in seeing that she did not 
wear it, and that induced me to write the letter to 
her majesty. But what shall I do?" 

"Go immediately to Versailles, and lay the whole 
matter before the king. But you have been extremely 
culpable, as crown jeweler, in acting in a matter of 
such great importance without direct orders from the 
king or queen, or their accredited minister." 

"I have not acted," the unhappy man replied, 
"without direct orders. I have now in my posses- 
sion all the promissory notes, signed by the queen 
herself; and I have been obliged to show those notes 
to several bankers, my creditors, to induce them to 
extend the time of my payments." 

Instead, however, of following Madame Campan's 
judicious advice, Boehmer, half delirious with solici- 
tude, went directly to the cardinal, and informed him 
of all that had transpired. The cardinal appeared 
very much embarrassed, asked a few questions, and 
said but little. He, however, wrote in his diary the 
following memorandum: "On this day, August 3, 
Boehmer went to Madame Campan's country-house, 
and she told him that the queen had never had his 
necklace, and that he had been cheated." 



loo MARIA ANTOINETTE [1786 

Boehmer was almost frantic with terror, for the 
loss of the necklace was his utter and irremediable ruin. 
Finding no rehef in his interview with the cardinal, he 
hastened to Little Trianon, and sent a message to the 
queen that Madame Campan wished him to see her 
immediately. The queen, who knew nothing of the 
occurrences we have just related, exclaimed, "That 
man is surely mad. I have nothing to say to him, 
and I will not see him." Madame Campan, how- 
ever, immediately called upon the queen, for she was 
very much alarmed by what she had heard, and 
related to her the whole occurrence. The queen was 
exceedingly amazed and perplexed, and feared that it 
was some deep-laid plot to involve her in difficulties. 
She questioned Madame Campan very minutely in 
reference to every particular of the interview, and in- 
sisted upon her repeating the conversation over and 
over again. They then went immediately to the 
king, and narrated to him the whole affair. He, 
aware of the many efforts which had been made to 
traduce the character of Maria Antoinette, and to ex- 
pose her to pubhc contumely, was at once convinced 
that it was a treacherous plot of the cardinal in re- 
venge for his neglect at court. 

The king instantly sent a command for the cardi- 
nal to meet him and the queen in the king's closet. 
He was, apparently, anticipating the summons, for he, 
without delay, appeared before them in all the pomp 



1786] THE DIAMOND NECKLACE loi 

of his pontifical robes, but was nevertheless so em- 
barrassed that he could with difficulty articulate a 
sentence. 

"You have purchased diamonds of Boehmer?" in- 
quired the king. 

"Yes, sire," was the trembling reply. 

"What have you done with them.?"' the king 
added. 

"I thought," said the cardinal, "that they had 
been delivered to the queen." 

"Who commissioned you to make this purchase?" 

"The Countess Lamotte," was the reply, "She 
handed me a letter from the queen requesting me to 
obtain the necklace for her. 1 truly thought that I 
was obeying her majesty's wishes, and doing her a 
favor, by taking this business upon myself." 

"How could you imagine, sir," indignantly inter- 
rupted the queen, "that 1 should have selected you 
for such a purpose, when 1 have not even spoken to 
you for eight years .? and how could you suppose that 
I should have acted through the mediation of such a 
character as the Countess Lamotte?" 

The cardinal was in the most violent agitation, 
and, apparently hardly knowing what he said, re- 
pHed, "I see plainly that I have been duped. I will 
pay for the necklace myself. 1 suspected no trick in 
the affair, and am extremely sorry that I have had 
any thing to do with it." 



I02 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1786 

He then took a letter from his pocket directed to 
the Countess Lamotte, and signed with the queen's 
name, requesting her to secure the purchase of the 
necklace. The king and queen looked at the letter, 
and instantly pronounced it a forgery. The king then 
took from his own pocket a letter addressed to the 
jeweler Boehmer, and, handing it to De Rohan, said, 

"Are you the author of that letter?" 

The cardinal turned pale, and,- leaning upon his 
hand, appeared as though he would fall to the floor. 

"I have no wish, cardinal," the king kindly re- 
plied, "to find you guilty. Explain to me this 
enigma. Account for all these maneuvers with Boeh- 
mer. Where did you obtain these securities and these 
promissory notes, signed in the queen's name, . which 
have been given to Boehmer?" 

The cardinal, trembling in every nerve, faintly re- 
plied, "Sire, I am too much agitated now to answer 
your majesty. Give me a little time to collect my 
thoughts." 

"Compose yourself, then, cardinal," the king 
added. "Go into my cabinet. You will there find 
papers, pens, and ink. At your leisure, write what 
you have to say to me." 

In about half an hour the cardinal returned with 
a paper, covered with erasures, and alterations, and 
blottings, as confused and unsatisfactory as his verbal 
statements had been. An officer was then summoned 



1786] THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 103 

into the royal presence, and commanded to take the 
cardinal into custody and conduct him to the Bastile. 
He was, however, permitted to visit his home. The 
cardinal contrived, by the way, to scribble a line 
upon a scrap of paper, and, catching the eye of a 
trusty servant, he, unobserved, slipped it into his 
hand. -It was a direction to the servant to hasten to 
the palace, with the utmost possible speed, and com- 
mit to the flames all of his private papers. The king 
had also sent officers to the cardinal's palace to seize 
his papers and seal them for examination. By almost 
superhuman exertions, the cardinal's servant first ar- 
rived at the palace, which was at the distance of 
several miles. His horse dropped dead in the court- 
yard. The important documents, which might, per- 
haps, have shed Hght upon this mysterious affair, 
were all consumed. 

The Countess Lamotte was also arrested, and held 
in close confinement to await her trial. She had just 
commenced living in a style of extraordinary splendor, 
and had vast sums at her disposal, acquired no one 
knew how. It is difficult to imagine the excitement 
which this story produced all over Europe. It was 
represented that the queen was found engaged in a 
swindling transaction with a profligate woman to 
cheat the crown jeweler out of gems of inestimable 
value, and that, being detected, she was employing 
all the influence of the crown to shield her own rep- 



I04 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1786 

utation by consigning the innocent cardinal to infamy. 
The enemies of the queen, sustained by the eccle- 
siastics generally, rallied around the cardinal. The 
king and queen, feeling that his acquittal would be 
the virtual condemnation of Maria Antoinette, and 
firmly convinced of his guilt, exerted their utmost in- 
fluence, in self-defense, to bring him to punishment. 
Rumors and counter rumors floated through Versailles, 
Paris, and all the courts of the Continent. The tale 
was rehearsed in saloon and cafe with every con- 
ceivable addition and exaggeration, and the queen 
hardly knew which way to turn from the invectives 
which were so mercilessly showered upon her. Her 
lofty spirit, conscious of rectitude, sustained her in 
public, and there she nerved herself to appear with 
firmness and equanimity. But in the retirement of 
her boudoir she was unable to repel the most mel- 
ancholy imaginings, and often wept with almost the 
anguish of a bursting heart. The sunshine of her life 
had now disappeared. Each succeeding day grew 
darker and darker with enveloping gloom. 

The trial of the cardinal continued, with various 
interruptions, for more than a year. Very powerful 
parties were formed for and against him. All France 
was agitated by the protracted contest. The cardinal 
appeared before his judges in mourning robes, but 
with all the pageantry of the most imposing ecclesi- 
astical costume. He was conducted into court with 



1786] THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 105 

much ceremony, and treated with the greatest defer- 
ence. In the trying moment in which he first ap- 
peared before his judges, his courage seemed utterly 
to fail him. Pale and trembling with emotion, his 
knees bent under him, and he had to cling to a sup- 
port to prevent himself from falling to the floor. 
Five or six voices immediately addressed him in tones 
of sympathy, and the president said, "His eminence 
the cardinal is at liberty to sit down, if he wishes 
it." The distinguished prisoner immediately took his 
seat with the members of the court. Having soon 
recovered in some degree his composure, he arose, 
and for half an hour addressed his judges, with much 
feeling and dignity, repeating his protestations of en- 
tire innocence in the whole affair. 

At the close of this protracted trial, the cardinal 
was fully acquitted of all guilt by a majority of three 
voices. The king and queen were extremely cha- 
grined at this result. During the trial, many insult- 
ing insinuations were thrown out against the queen 
which could not easily be repelled. A friend who 
called upon her immediately after the decision, found 
her in her closet weeping bitterly. "Come," said 
Maria, "come and weep for your queen, insulted and 
sacrificed by cabal and injustice." The king came in 
at the same moment, and said, "You find the queen 
much afflicted; she has great reason to be so. They 
were determined throughout this affair to see only an 



io6 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1786 

ecclesiastical prince, a Prince de Rohan, while he is, 
in fact, a needy fellow, and all this was but a scheme 
to put money into his pockets. It is not necessary 
to be an Alexander to cut this Gordian knot." The 
cardinal subsequently emigrated to Germany, where he 
lived in comparative obscurity till 1803, when he died. 
The Countess Lamotte was brought fo trial, but 
with a painfully different result. Dressed in the rich- 
est and most costly robes, the dissolute beauty ap- 
peared before her judges, and astonished them all by 
her imperturbable self-possession, her talents, and her 
cool effrontery. It was clearly proved that she had 
received the necklace ; that she had sold here and 
there the diamonds of which it was composed, and 
had thus come into possession of large sums of 
money. She told all kinds of stories, contradict- 
ing herself in a thousand ways, accusing now one 
and again another as an accomplice, and unblush- 
ingly declaring that she had no intention to tell the 
truth, for that neither she nor the cardinal had uttered 
one single word before the court which had not been 
false. She was found guilty, and the following hor- 
rible sentence was pronounced against her : that she 
should be whipped upon the bare back in the court- 
yard of the prison ; that the letter V should be 
burned into the flesh on each shoulder with a hot 
iron ; and that she should be imprisoned for life. The 
king and queen were as much displeased with the 



1786] THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 107 

terrible barbarity of tiie punishment of the countess as 
they were chagrined at the acquittal of the cardinal. 
As the countess was a descendant of the royal family, 
they felt that the ignominious character of the punish- 
ment was intended as a stigma upon them. 

As the countess was sitting one morning in the 
spacious room provided for her, in the prison, in a 
loose robe, conversing gayly with some friends, and 
surrounded by all the appliances of wealth, an attend- 
ant appeared to conduct her into the presence of the 
judges. Totally unprepared for the awful doom im- 
pending over her, she rose with careless alacrity and 
entered the court. The terrible sentence was pro- 
nounced. Immediately terror, rage, and despair seized 
upon her, and a scene of horror ensued which no 
pen can describe. Before the sentence was finished, 
she threw herself upon the floor, and uttered the 
most piercing shrieks and screams. The tumult of 
agitation into which she was thrown, dreadful as it 
was, relaxed not the stern rigor of the law. The 
executioner immediately seized her, and dragged her, 
shrieking and struggling in a delirium of frensy, 
into the court-yard of the prison. As her eye fell 
upon the instruments of her ignominious and brutal 
punishment, she seized upon one of her executioners 
with her teeth, and tore a mouthful of flesh from his 
arm. She was thrown upon the ground, her gar- 
ments, with relentless violence, were stripped from 



io8 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1786 

her back, and the lash mercilessly cut its way into 
her quivering nerves, while her awful screams pierced 
the damp, chill air of the morning. The hot irons 
were brought, and simmered upon her recoiling flesh. 
The unhappy creature was then carried, mangled and 
bleeding, and half dead with torture, and terror, and 
madness, to the prison hospital. After nine months 
of imprisonment she was permitted to escape. She 
fled to England, and was found one • morning dead 
upon the pavements of London, having been thrown 
from a third story window in a midnight carousal. 

Such was the story of the Diamond Necklace. 
Though no one can now doubt that Maria Antoi- 
nette was perfectly innocent in the whole affair, it, at 
the time, furnished her enemies with weapons against 
her, which they used with fatal efficiency. It was 
then represented that the Countess Lamotte was an 
accomplice of the queen in the fraudulent acquisition 
of the necklace, and that the Cardinal de Rohan was 
their deluded but innocent victim. The horrible pun- 
ishment of Madame Lamotte, who boasted that royal 
blood circulated in her veins, was understood to be 
in contempt of royalty, and as the expression of ven- 
omous feeling toward the queen. Both Maria Antoi- 
nette and Louis felt it as such, and were equally 
aggrieved by the acquittal of the cardinal and the 
barbarous punishment of the countess. 

Whether the cardinal was a victim or an accom- 



1786] THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 109 

plice is a question which never has been, and now 
never can be, decided. The mystery in which the 
affair is involved must remain a mystery until the 
secrets of all hearts are revealed at the great day of 
judgment. If he was the guilty instigator, and the 
poor countess but his tool and victim, how much has 
he yet to be accountable for in the just retributions 
of eternity! There were three suppositions adopted 
by the community in the attempt to solve the mys- 
tery of this transaction: 

1. The first was, that the queen had really em- 
ployed the Countess Lamotte to obtain the necklace 
by deceiving the cardinal. That it was a trick by 
which the queen and the countess were to obtain the 
necklace, and, by selling it piecemeal, to share the 
spoil, leaving the cardinal responsible for the pay- 
ment. This was the view the enemies of Maria An- 
toinette, almost without exception, took of the case; 
and the sentence of acquittal of the cardinal, and the 
horrible condemnation of the countess, were intended 
to sustain this view. This opinion, spread through 
Paris and France, was very influential in rousing that 
animosity which conducted Maria Antoinette to suffer- 
ings more poignant and to a doom more awful than 
the Countess Lamotte could by any possibility en- 
dure. 

2. The second supposition was, that the cardinal 



no MARIA ANTOINETTE [1786 

and the countess forged the signature of the queen to 
defraud the jeweler; that they thus obtained the rich 
prize of three hundred and twenty thousand dollars, 
intending to divide the spoil between them, and throw 
the obloquy of the transaction upon the queen. The 
king and queen were both fully convinced that this 
was the true explanation of the fraud, and they re- 
tained this belief undoubted until they died. 

3. The third supposition, and that which now is 
almost universally entertained, was, that the crafty 
woman Lamotte, by forgery, and by means of an ac- 
complice, who very much, in figure, resembled Maria 
Antoinette, completely duped the cardinal. His anx- 
iety was such to be restored to the royal favor, that 
he eagerly caught at the bait which the wily countess 
presented to him. But, whoever may have been the 
guilty ones, no one now doubts that Maria Antoinette 
was entirely innocent. She, however, experienced all 
the ignominy she could have encountered had she 
been involved in the deepest guilt. 




CHAPTER V. 

The Mob at Versailles. 

A.gathering storm. — Condition of the French people. — Forces assembled at 
Versailles. — The populace rise upon the troops. — Terror and confusion. 
— Attack on the Bastille.— The Bastille taken. — Awful tumult.— Energy 
of the queen. — Resolution of the king. — The king visits Paris. — Strange 
cavalcade. — Painful suspense of the queen. — Return of the king. — The 
banquet at Versailles. — Enthusiastic loyalty. — News of the banquet. — 
Famine in Paris. — The mob marches to Versailles. — Heroic reply of the 
queen. — Violence of the mob.— The queen retires to rest. — Peril of the 
queen. — Her narrow escape. — The mob in the palace. — Heroic conduct 
of the queen. — The queen appears on the balcony. — Her composure. — 
The queen applauded. — The royal family taken to Paris. — An army of 
vagabonds. — The royal family grossly insulted. — The royal family in the 
Tuileries. — The queen's self-sacrificing spirit. — Rioting and violence. — 
The dauphin's question. — The king's explanation to his son. — Flight of 
the nobility. — Inflammatory placards. — The Duke of Orleans. — The 
Duke of Orlean s plans frustrated.— Rumors of invasion.— The leaders 
of the populace. — The queen urged to attend the theater. — Dignified 
reply of the queen. — Her unpopularity increases.— The queen's vigorous 
action. — Ultimate cause of the popular fury. — Transgressors visited in 
their children. 

THE year 1789 opened upon France lowering 
with darkness and portentous storms. The 
events to which we have alluded in the pre- 
ceding chapters, and various others of a similar nature, 
conspired to foment troubles between the French 
monarch and his subjects, which were steadily and 
irresistibly increasing. The great mass of the people, 
ignorant, degraded, and maddened by centuries of 

(MI) 



112 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1789 

oppression, were rising, witli delirious energy, to 
batter down a corrupt church and a despotic throne, 
and to overwhelm the guilty and the innocent alike 
in indiscriminate ruin. The storm had been gathering 
for ages, but those who had been mainly instrumental 
in raising it were now slumbering in their graves. 
Mobs began to sweep the streets of Paris, frensied 
with rum and rage, and all law was set at defiance. 
The king, mild in temperament, and with no force of 
character, was extremely averse to any mea'sures of 
violence. The queen, far more energetic, with the 
spirit of her heroic mother, would have quelled these 
insurrections with the strong arm of military power. 
The king at last was compelled, in order to pro- 
tect the royal family from insult, to encamp his army 
around his palaces; and long trains of artillery and of 
cavalry incessantly traversed the streets of Versailles, 
to prop the tottering monarchy. As Maria Antoinette, 
from the windows, looked down upon these formi- 
dable bands, and saw the crowd of generals and 
colonels who filled the saloons of the palace, her 
faintmg courage was revived. The sight of these 
soldiers, called to quell the insurgent people, roused 
the Parisians to the intensest fury. "To arms! to arms! 
the king's troops are coming to massacre us," re- 
sounded through the streets of Paris in the gloom of 
night, in tones which caused the heart of every 
peaceful citizen to quake with terror. The infuriated 



1789] THE MOB AT VERSAILLES 113 

populace hurled themselves upon the few troops who 
were in Paris. Many of the soldiers of the king threw 
down their arms and fraternized with the people. 
Others were withdrawn, by order of Louis, to add 
to the forces which were surrounding his person at 
Versailles. Paris was thus left at the mercy of the 
mob. The arsenals were ransacked, the powder 
magazines were broken open, pikes were forged, and 
in a day, as it were, all Paris was in arms. Thou- 
sands of the noble and the wealthy fled in consterna- 
tion from these scenes of ever-accumulating peril, and 
bands of ferocious men and women, from all the 
abodes of infamy, with the aspect and the energy of 
demons, ravaged the streets. 

Whe.i the morning of the 14th of July, 1789, 
dawned upon the city, a scene of terror and confusion 
was witnessed which baffles all description. In the 
heart of Paris there was a prison of terrible celebrity, 
in whose dark dungeons many victims of oppression 
and crime had perished. The Bastille, in its gloomy 
strength of rock and iron, was the great instrument 
of terror with which the kings of France had, for 
centuries, held all restless spirits in subjection. Now, 
the whole population of Paris seemed to be rolling 
like an inundation toward this apparently impregnable 
fortress, resolved to batter down its execrated walls. 
"To the Bastille! to the Bastille!" was the cry which 
resounded along the banks of the Seine, and through 

M. ofH.— I— 8 



114 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1789 

every street of the insurgent metropolis; and men, 
women, and boys poured on and poured on, an in- 
terminable host, choking every avenue with the 
agitated mass, armed with guns, knives, swords, 
pikes — dragging artillery bestrode by amazons, and 
filling the air with the clamor of Pandemonium. A 
conflict, fierce, short, bloody, ensued, and the exasper- 
ated multitude, many of them bleeding and maddened 
by wounds, clambered over the walls and rushed 
through the shattered gateways, and, with yells of 
triumph, became masters of the Bastile. The heads 
of its defenders were stuck upon poles upon the 
battlements, and the mob, intoxicated with the dis- 
covery of their resistless power, were beginning to in- 
quire in what scenes of violence they should next 
engage. At midnight, couriers arrived at Versailles, 
informing the king and queen of the terrible insur- 
rections triumphant in the capital, and that the royal 
troops every where, instead of being enthusiastic for 
the defense of the king, manifested 'the strongest dis- 
position to fraternize with the populace. The tumult 
in Paris that night was awful. The rumor had entered 
every ear that the king was coming with forty 
thousand troops to take dreadful vengeance in the in- 
discriminate massacre of the populace. It was a night 
of sleeplessness and terror — the carnival of all the 
monsters of crime who thronged that depraved 
metropolis. The streets were filled with intoxication 



1789] THE MOB AT VERSAILLES 115 

and blasphemy. No dwelling was secure from pillage. 
The streets were barricaded, pavements torn up, and 
the roofs of houses loaded with the stones. 

All the energies of the queen were aroused for a 
vigorous and heroic resistance. She strove to inspire 
the king with firmness and courage. He, however, 
thought only of concessions. He wished to win back 
the love of his people by favors. He declared openly 
that never should one drop of blood be shed at his 
command ; and, with the heroism of endurance, 
which he abundantly possessed, and to prove that he 
had been grossly calumniated, he left Versailles in his 
carriage to go unprotected to Paris, into the midst of 
the infuriated populace. Just as he was entering his 
carriage on this dangerous expedition, he received 
intelligence that a plot was formed to assassinate him 
on the way. This, however, did not in the slightest 
degree shake his resolution. The agony of the queen 
was irrepressible as she bade him adieu, never ex- 
pecting to see him again. 

The National Assembly, consisting of nearly 
twelve hundred persons, was then in session at 
Versailles, the great majority of them sympathizing 
with the populace, and yet was alarmed in view of 
the lawless violence which their own acts had 
awakened, and which was every where desolating the 
land. As, on the morning of the 17th of July, the 
king entered his carriage with a slender retinue, and 



ii6 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1789 

with no military protection, to expose himself to the 
dangers of his tumultuous capital, this whole body 
formed in procession on foot and followed him. A 
countless throng of artisans and peasants flocked from 
all the streets of Versailles, and poured in from the 
surrounding country, armed with scythes and bludg- 
eons, and joined the strange cavalcade. Every mo- 
ment the multitude increased, and the road, both be- 
fore and behind the king, was so clogged with the 
accumulating mass, that seven hours passed before the 
king arrived at the gates of the city. During all this 
time he was exposed to every conceivable insult. As 
Louis was conducted to the Hotel de Ville, a hundred 
thousand armed men lined the way, and he passed 
along under the arch of their sabers crossed over his 
head. The cup of degradation he was compelled to 
drain to its dregs. 

While the king was absent from Versailles on this 
dreadful visit, silence and the deepest gloom pervaded 
the palace. The queen, apprehensive that the king 
would be either massacred or retained a prisoner 
in Paris was overwhelmed with the anguish of sus- 
pense. She retired to her chamber, and, with con- 
tinually gushing tears, prepared an appeal to the Na- 
tional Assembly, commencing with these words: 
"Gentlemen, 1 come to place in your hands the wife 
and family of your sovereign. Do not suffer those 
who have been united in heaven to be put asunder 



1789] THE MOB AT VERSAILLES 117 

on earth." Late in the evening the king returned, to 
the inexpressible joy of his household. But the nar- 
rative he gave of the day's adventure plunged them 
all again into the most profound grief. 

The visit of the king had no influence in dimin- 
ishing the horrors of the scenes now hourly enacted 
in the French capital. His friends were openly mas- 
sacred in the streets, hung up at the lamp-posts, and 
roasted at slow fires, while their dying agonies were 
but the subjects of derision. The contagion of crime 
and cruelty spread to every other city in the empire. 
The higher nobility and the more wealthy citizens 
began very generally to abandon their homes, seeing 
no escape from these dangers but by precipitate flight 
to foreign lands. Such was the state of affairs, when 
the officers of some of the regiments assembled at 
Versailles for the protection of the king had a public 
banquet in the saloon of the opera. All the rank and 
elegance which had ventured yet to linger around the 
court graced the feast with their presence in the sur- 
rounding boxes. In the midst of their festivities, their 
chivalrous enthusiasm was excited in behalf of the 
king and queen. They drank their health — they 
vowed to defend them even unto death. Wine had 
given fervor to their loyalty. The ladies showered 
upon them bouquets, waved their handkerchiefs, and 
tossed to them white cockades, the emblem of Bour- 
bon power. And now the cry arose, loud, and long. 



ii8 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1789 

and enthusiastic, for the king and queen to come and 
show themselves to their defenders. The door sud- 
denly opened, and the king and queen appeared. 
Enthusiasm immediately rose almost to frensy. The 
hall resounded with acclamations, and the king, en- 
tirely unmanned by these expressions of attachment, 
burst into tears. The band struck up the pathetic air, 
"O Richard! O my king! the world abandons you." 
There were no longer any bounds to the transport. 
The officers and the ladies mingled together in a scene 
of indescribable enthusiasm. 

The tidings of this banquet spread like wild-fire 
through Paris, magnified by the grossest exaggera- 
tions. It was universally believed that the officers 
had contemptuously trampled the tri-colored cockade, 
the adopted emblem of popular power, under their 
feet; that they had sharpened their sabers, and sworn 
to exterminate the National Assembly and the people 
of Paris. All business was at a stand. No laborer 
was employed. The provisions in the city were 
nearly all consumed. No baker dared to appear with 
his cart, or farmer to send in his corn, for pillage 
was the order of the day. The exasperated and 
starving people hung a few bakers before their own 
ovens, but that did not make bread any more plenty. 
The populace of Paris were now starving, literally 
and truly starving. A gaunt and haggard woman 
seized a drum and strode through the streets, beating 



1789] THE MOB AT VERSAILLES 119 

it violently, and mingling with its din her shrieks of 
"Bread! bread!" A few boys follow her — then a 
score of female furies — and then thousands of desper- 
ate men. The swelling inundation rolls from street 
to street; the alarm bells are rung; all Paris com- 
poses one mighty, resistless mob, motiveless, aimless, 
but ripe for any deed of desperation. The cry goes 
from mouth to mouth, "To Versailles! to Versailles!" 
Why, no one knows, only that the king and queen 
are there. Impetuously, as by a blind instinct, the 
monster mass moves on. La Fayette, at the head of 
the National Guard knows not what to do, for all 
the troops under his command sympathize with the 
people, and will obey no orders to resist them. He 
therefore merely follows on with his thirty-five thou- 
sand troops to watch the issue of events. The king 
and queen are warned of the approaching danger, 
and Louis entreats Maria Antoinette to take the chil- 
dren in the carriages and flee to some distant place 
of safety. Others join most earnestly in the entreaty. 
"Nothing," replies the queen, "shall induce ' me, in 
such an extremity, to be separated from my husband. 
I know that they seek my life. But I am the daugh- 
ter of Maria Theresa, and have learned not to fear 
death." 

From the windows of their mansion the disorderly 
multitude were soon descried, in a dense and appar- 
ently interminable mass, pouring along through the 



I20 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1789' 

broad avenues toward the palaces of Versailles. It was 
in the evening twilight of a dark and rainy day. 
Like ocean tides, the frantic mob rolled in from every 
direction. Their shouts and revels swelled upon the 
night air. The rain began to fall in torrents. They 
broke into the houses for shelter ; insulted maids alnd 
matrons ; tore down every thing combustible for their 
watch fires ; massacred a few of the body guard of 
the queen, and, with bacchanalian songs, roasted their 
horses for food. And thus passed the hours of this 
long and dreary night, in hideous outrages for which 
one can hardly find a parallel in the annals of New 
Zealand cannibalism. The immense gardens of Ver- 
sailles were filled with a tumultuous ocean of half- 
frantic men and women, tossed to and fro in the 
wildest and most reckless excitement. 

Toward morning, the queen, worn out with ex- 
citement and sleeplessness, having received from La 
Fayette the assurance that he had so posted the guard 
that she need be in no apprehension of personal dan- 
ger, had retired to her chamber for rest. The king 
had also retired to his apartment, which was con- 
nected with that of the queen by a hall, through 
which they could mutually pass. Two faithful sol- 
diers were stationed at the door of the queen's cham- 
ber for her defense. Hardly had the queen placed her 
head upon her pillow before she heard a dreadful 
clamor upon the stairs — the discharge of fire-arms, 



1789] THE MOB AT VERSAILLES 



T2I 



the clashing of swords, and the shouts of the mob 
rushing upon her door. The faithful guard, bleeding 
beneath the blows of the assailants, had only time to 
cry to the queen, "Fly! fly for your life!" when 
they were stricken down. The queen sprang from 
her bed, rushed to the door leading to the king's apart- 
ments, when, to her dismay, she found that it was 
locked, and that the key was upon the other side. 
With the energy of despair, she knocked and called 
for help. Fortunately, some one rushed to her rescue 
from the king's chamber and opened the door. The 
queen had just time to slip through and again turn 
the key, when the whole raging mob, with oaths 
and imprecations, burst into the room, and pierced 
her bed through and through xyith their sabers and 
bayonets. Happy would it have been for Maria if in 
that short agony she might have died. But she was 
reserved by a mysterious Providence for more pro- 
longed tortures and for a more dreadful doom. 

A few of the National Guard, faithful to the king, 
rallied around the royal family, and La Fayette soon 
appeared, and was barely able to protect the king and 
queen from massacre. He had no power to eflFectu- 
ally resist the tempest of human passion which was 
raging, but was swept along by its violence. Nearly 
all of the interior of the palace was ransacked and 
defiled by the mob. The bloody heads of the massa- 
cred guards, stuck upon pikes, were raised up to the 



122 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1780^ 

windows of the king, to insult and to terrify the royal 
family with these hideous trophies of the triumph of 
their foes. 

At length the morning succeeding this dreadful 
night dawned lurid and cheerless. It was the 8th of 
October, 1789. Dark clouds overshadowed the sky, 
showers of mist were driven through the air, and the 
branches of the trees swayed to and fro before the 
driving storm. Pools of water filled the streets, and 
a countless multitude of drunken vagabonds, in a mass 
so dense as to be almost impervious, besieged the 
palace, having no definite plan or desire, only furious 
with the thought that now was the hour in which 
they could wreak vengeance upon aristocrats for ages 
of oppression. Muskets were continually discharged 
by the more desperate, and bullets passed through 
the windows of the palace. Maria Antoinette, in these 
trying scenes, indeed appeared queenly. Her conduct 
was heroic in the extreme. Her soul was nerved to 
the very highest acts of fearlessness and magnanimity. 
Seeing the mob in the court-yard below ready to tear 
in pieces some of her faithful guard whom they had 
captured, regardless of the shots which were whis- 
tling by her, she persisted in exposing herself at the 
open window to beg for their hves; and when a 
friend, M. Luzerne, placed himself before her, that 
his body might be her shield from the bullets, she 
gently, but firmly, with her hand, pressed him away, 



1789] THE MOB AT VERSAILLES 123 

saying, "The king can not afford to lose so faithful 
a servant as you are." 

At length the crowd began vigorously to shout 
"The queen! the queen!" demanding that she should 
appear upon the balcony. She immediately came 
forth, v^'ith her children at her side, that, as a mother, 
she might appeal to their hearts. The sight moved 
the sympathies of the multitude; and execrating, as 
they did, Maria Antoinette, whom they had long been 
taught to hate, they could not have the heart, in cold 
blood, to massacre these innocent children. Thou- 
sands of voices simultaneously shouted, "Away with 
the children!" Maria, apparently without the tremor 
of a nerve, led back her children, and again appear- 
ing upon the balcony alone, folded her arms, and, 
raising her eyes to heaven, stood before them, a self- 
devoted victim. The heroism of the act changed for 
a moment hatred to admiration. Not a gun was fired; 
there was a moment of silence, and then one spon- 
taneous burst of applause rose apparently from every 
lip, and shouts of "Vive la reine! vive la reine!" 
pierced the skies. 

And now the universal cry ascends, "To Paris! to 
Paris!" La Fayette, with the deepest mortification, 
was compelled to inform the king that he had no 
force at his disposal sufficient to enable him to resist 
the demands of the mob. The king, seeing that he 
was entirely at the mercy of his foes, who were act- 



124 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1789 

ing without leaders and without plan, as the caprice 
of each passing moment instigated, said, "You wish, 
my children, that 1 should accompany you to Paris. 
I cannot go except on condition that i shall not be 
separated from my wife and family." To this pro- 
posal there was a tumultuous assent. At one o'clock, 
the king and queen, with their two children, entered 
the royal carriage to be escorted by the triumphant 
mob as captives to Paris, Behind them, in a long 
train, followed the carriages of the king's suite and 
servants. Then followed twenty-five carriages filled 
with the members of the National Assembly. After 
them came the thirty-five thousand troops of the Na- 
tional Guard; and before, behind, and around them 
all, a hideous concourse of vagabonds, male and fe- 
male, in uncounted thousands, armed with every con- 
ceivable weapon, yelling, blaspheming, and crowding 
against the carriages so that they surged to and fro 
like ships in a storm. This motley multitude kept 
up an incessant discharge of fire-arms loaded with 
bullets, and the balls often struck the ornaments of 
the carriages, and the king and queen were often al- 
most suffocated with the smoke of powder. 

The two body guards, who had been massacred 
while so faithfully defending the queen at the door of 
her chamber, were beheaded, and, their gory heads 
affixed to pikes, were carried by the windows of the 
carriage, and pressed upon the view of the wretched 



MARIA ANTOINETTE CONFRONTING THE 
MOB AT VERSAILLES 



1789] THE MOB AT VERSAILLES 125 

captives with every species of insult and derision. 
La Fayette was powerless. He was borne along re- 
sistlessly by this whirlwind of human passions. None 
were so malignant, so ferocious, so merciless, as the 
degraded women who mingled with the throng. 
They bestrode the cannon singing the most indecent 
and insulting songs. "We shall now have bread," 
they exclaimed; "for we have with us the baker, and 
the baker's wife, and the baker's boy." During seven 
long hours of agony were the royal family exposed 
to these insults, before the unwieldy mass had urged 
its slow way to Paris. The darkness of night was 
settling down around the city as the royal captives 
were led into the Hotel de Ville. No one seemed 
then to know what to do, or why the king and 
queen had been brought from Versailles. The mayor 
of the city received them there with the external 
mockery of respect and homage. He had them then 
conducted to the Tuileries, the gorgeous city palace 
of the kings of France, now the prison of the royal 
family. Soldiers were stationed at all the avenues to 
the palace, ostensibly to preserve the royal family from 
danger, but, in reality, to guard them from escape. 

A moment before the queen entered her carriage 
for this march of humiliation, she hastily retired to 
her private apartment, and, bursting into tears, sur- 
rendered herself to the most uncontrollable emotion. 
Then immediately, as if relieved and strengthened by 



126 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1789 

this flood of tears, she summoned all her energies, 
and appeared as she had ever appeared, the invinci- 
ble sovereign. Indeed, through all these dreadful 
scenes she never seemed to have a thought for her- 
self. It was for her husband and her children alone 
that she wept and suffered. Through all the long 
hours of the night succeeding this day of horror, 
Paris was one boiling caldron of tumult and passion. 
Rioting and violence filled all its streets, and the 
clamor of madness and inebriation drove sleep from 
every pillow. The excitement of the day had been 
too terrible to allow either the king or the queen to 
attempt repose. The two children, in utter exhaus- 
tion, found a few hours of agitated slumber from the 
terror with which they had so long been appalled. 
But in the morning, when the dauphin awoke, being 
but six or eight years of age, hearing the report of 
musketry and the turmoil still resounding in the 
streets, he threw his arms around his mother's neck, 
and, as he clung trembling to her bosom, exclaimed, 
"O mother! mother! is to-day yesterday again?" 
Soon after, his father came into the room. The little 
prince, to whom sorrow had given a maturity above 
his years, contemplated his father for a moment with 
a pensive air, went up to him and said, "Dear father, 
why are your people, who formerly loved you so 
well, now, all of a sudden, so angry with you ? And 
what have you done to irritate them so much?" 



1789] THE MOB AT VERSAILLES 127 

The king thus replied. "I wished, my dear child, 
to render the people still happier than they were. I 
wanted money to pay the expenses occasioned by 
wars. 1 asked the Parliament for money, as my 
predecessors have always done. Magistrates com- 
posing the Parliament opposed it, and said that the 
people alone had a right to consent to it. I assem- 
bled the principal inhabitants of every town, whether 
distinguished by birth, fortune or talents, at Versailles. 
That is what is called the States-General. When 
they were assembled, they required concessions of 
me which 1 could not make, either with due respect 
for myself, or with justice to you, who will be my 
successor. Wicked men, inducing the people to rise, 
have occasioned the excesses of the last few days. 
The people must not be blamed for them." 

While these terrific scenes were passing in Paris 
and in France, the majority of the nobility were 
rapidly emigrating to find refuge in other lands. 
Every night the horizon was illumined by the con- 
flagration of their chateaux, burned down by mobs. 
Many of them were mercilessly tortured to death. 
Large numbers, however, gathering around them such 
treasures as could easily be carried away, escaped to 
Germany on the frontiers of France. SjDme fifteen 
hundred of these emigrants were at Coblentz, organ- 
izing themselves into a military band, seeking assist- 



128 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1789 

ance from the Austrian monarchy, and threatening, 
with an overwhelming force of invasion, to recover 
their homes and their confiscated estates, and to res- 
cue the royal family. The populace in Paris were 
continually agitated with the rumors of this gathering 
army at Coblentz. As Maria was an Austrian, she 
was accused of being in correspondence with the 
emigrants, and of striving to rouse the Austrian mon- 
archy to make war upon France, and to deluge Paris 
with the blood of its citizens. Most inflammatory 
placards were posted in the streets. Speeches full of 
rancor and falsehood were made to exasperate the 
populace. And when the fish-women wished to cast 
upon the queen some epithet of peculiar bitterness, 
they called her "The Austrian." 

It is confidently asserted that the mob was insti- 
gated to the march to Versailles by the emissaries of 
the Duke of Orleans, the father of Louis Philippe. 
The duke hoped that the royal family, terrified by the 
approach of the infuriated multitude, would enter 
their carriages and flee to join the emigrants at Cob- 
lentz. The throne would then be vacant, and the 
people would make the Duke of Orleans, who, to 
secure this result, had become one of the most vio- 
lent of the Democrats, their king. It was a deeply-laid 
plot and a very plausible enterprise. But the king 
understood the plan, and refused thus to be driven 
from the throne of his fathers. He, however, en- 



1789] THE MOB AT VERSAILLES 129 

treated the queen to take the children and escape. 
She resolutely declared that no peril should induce 
her to forsake her husband, but that she would live 
or die by his side. During all the horrors of that 
dreadful night, when the palace at Versailles was 
sacked, the duke, in disguise, with his adherents, was 
endeavoring to direct the fury of the storm for the 
accomplishment of this purpose. But his plans were 
entirely frustrated. The caprice seized the mob to 
carry the king to Paris. This the Duke of Orleans 
of all things dreaded; but matters had now passed 
entirely beyond his control. Rumors of the approach- 
ing invasion were filling the kingdom with alarm. 
There was a large minority, consisting of the most 
intelligent and weakhy, who were in favor of the 
king, and who would eagerly join an army coming 
for his rescue. Should the king escape and head that 
army, it would give the invaders a vast accession of 
moral strength, and the insurgent people feared a 
dreadful vengeance. Consequently, there were great 
apprehensions entertained that the king might escape. 
The leaders of the populace were not yet prepared to 
plunge him into prison or to load him with chains. 
In fact, they had no definite plan before them. He 
was still their recognized king. They even pretended 
that he was not their captive — that they had politely, 
affectionately invited him, escorted him on a visit to his 
capital. They entreated the king and queen to show 

M. ofH.— I— 9 



I30 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1789 

that they had no desire to escape, but were contented 
and happy, by entering into all the amusements of 
operas, and theaters, and balls. But in the mean 
time they doubled the guards around them, and drove 
away their faithful servants, to place others at their 
tables and in their chambers who should be their 
spies. 

But two days after these horrid outrages, in the 
midst of which the king and queen were dragged as 
captives to Paris, the city sent a deputation to request 
the queen to appear at the theater, and thus to 
prove, by participating in those gay festivities, that it 
was with pleasure that she resided in her capital. 
With much dignity the queen repHed, "I should, with 
great pleasure, accede to the invitation of the people 
of Paris ; but time must be allowed me to soften the 
recollection of the distressing events which have re- 
cently occurred, and from which I have suffered so 
severely. Having come to Paris preceded by the 
heads of my faithful guards, who perished before the 
door of their sovereign, I can not think that such an 
entry into the capital ought to be followed by rejoic- 
ings. But the happiness I have always felt in appear- 
ing in the midst of the inhabitants of Paris is not 
effaced from my memory ; and 1 hope to enjoy that 
happiness again, so soon as I shall find myself able to 
do so." 

The queen was, however, increasingly the object 



1789] THE MOB AT VERSAILLES 131 

of especial obloquy. She was accused of urging the 
king to bombard the city, and to adopt other most 
vigorous measures of resistance. It was affirmed that 
she held continual correspondence with the emigrants 
at Coblentz, and was doing all in her power to rouse 
Austria to come to the rescue of the king. Maria 
would have been less than the noble woman she was 
if she had not done all this, and more, for the pro- 
tection of her husband, her children, and herself. She 
inherited her mother's superiority of mind and mental 
energy. Had Louis possessed her spirit, he might 
have perished more heroically, but probably none the 
less surely. Maria did, unquestionably, do every thing 
in her power to rouse her husband to a more ener- 
getic and manly defense. Generations of kings, by 
licentiousness, luxury, and oppression ; by total dis- 
regard of the rights of the people, and by the haughty 
contempt of their sufferings and complaints, had kindled 
flames of implacable hatred against all kingly power. 
Circumstances, over which neither Louis nor Maria 
had any control, caused these flames to burst out with 
resistless fury around the throne of France, at the 
time in which they happened to be seated upon it. 
Though there never had been seated upon that throne 
more upright, benevolent, and conscientious monarchs, 
they were compelled to drain to the dregs the poi- 
soned chalice which their ancestors had mingled. Per- 
haps this world presents no more affecting illustration 



132 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1789 

of that mysterious principle of the divine government, 
by which the transgressions of the parents are visited 
upon the children. Louis XIV., as haughty and op- 
pressive a monarch as ever trod an enslaved people 
into the dust, died peacefully in his luxurious bed. 
His descendant, Louis XVI., as mild and benignant a 
sovereign as ever sat upon an earthly throne, received 
upon his unresisting brow the doom from which his 
unprincipled ancestors had escaped. It is difficult for 
us, in the sympathy which is excited for the com- 
paratively innocent Maria Antoinette and Louis, to re- 
member the ages of wrong and outrage by which the 
popular exasperation had been raised to wreak itself 
in indiscriminating atrocities. Theie is but one solu- 
tion to these mysteries: "After death comes the 
judgment." 




CHAPTER VI. 
The Palace a Prison. 

Condition of the royal family.— Ignominiously insulted. — The royal family 
surrounded by spies. — The queen refuses to escape. — Excuse for the 
emigrants.— Their plans.— Profligate women.- Their talk with the 
queen. — Bravos of the women. — Plan for the queen's escape. — Letter 
from the queen. — Her employments. — The king's unwillingness to 
flee. — Execution of the Marquis of Favras. — Imprudence of some of the 
queen's friends. — Her embarrassment. — The queen weeps. — Present 
to Madame Favras— The king continues inactive. — Plan of Count 
d'Inisdal. — Indecision of the king. — The queen's disappointment. — Dis- 
pleasure of Count d'Inisdal.— An alarm. — Attempts to as.sassinate the 
queen. — Removal to St. Cloud. — Another plan for fiight. — It is aban- 
doned. — Exhibitions of attachment. — Emotions of the queen. — The 
assassin in the garden. — Midnight interviews. — Deliberatious of the 
king's friends.— Taunting gift.— The king's aunts leave France. — They 
are arrested. — Exciting debate. — The ladies permitted to depart. — The 
royal family start for St. Cloud. — They are compelled to return. — Prepa- 
rations for flight. — Imprudence of the king and queen. — Garments 
for the children.— The queen's dressing case. — The queen's diamonds 
and jewels. — Faithful I/eonard. 

THE king and queen now found themselves in 
the gorgeous apartments of the Tuileries, sur- 
rounded with all the mockery of external hom- 
age, but incessantly exposed to the most ignomin- 
ious insults, and guarded with sleepless vigilance from 
the possibility of escape. The name of the queen 
was the watchword of popular execration and rage, 
in the pride of her lofty spirit, she spurned all 

('33) 



134 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1789 

apologies, explanations, or attempts at conciliation. 
Inclosing herself in the recesses of her palace, she 
heard with terror and resentment, but with an un- 
yielding soul, the daily acts of violence perpetrated 
against royalty and all of its friends. All her trusty 
servants were removed, and spies in their stead occu- 
pied her parlors and her chambers. Trembhng far 
more for her husband and her children than for herself, 
every noise in the streets aroused her apprehensions 
of a new insurrection. And thus, for nearly two 
years of melancholy days and sorrowful nights, the 
very nobleness of her nature, glowing with heroic 
love, magnified her anguish. The terror of the times 
had driven nearly all the nobility from the realm. 
The court was forsaken, or attended only by the de- 
tested few who were forced as ministers upon the 
royal family by the implacable populace. Every word 
and every action of Maria Antoinette were watched, 
and reported by the spies who surrounded her in the 
guise of servants. To obtain a private interview with 
any of her few remaining friends, or even with her 
husband, it was necessary to avail herself of private 
stair-cases, and dark corridors, and the disguise of 
night. The queen regretted extremely that the nobles 
and others friendly to royalty, should, in these hours 
of gathering danger, have fled from France. When 
urged to fly herself from the dangers darkening 
around her, she resolutely refused, declaring that she 



1789] THE PALACE A PRISON 135 

would never leave her husband and children, but that 
she would live or die with them. The queen, con- 
vinced of. the impolicy of emigration, did every thing 
in her power to induce the emigrants to return. 
Urgent letters were sent to them, to one of which 
the queen added the following postscript with her 
own hand: 

"If you love your king, your religion, your gov- 
ernment, and your country, return! return! return! 

"Maria Antoinette." 

The emigrants were severely censured by many 
for abandoning their king and country in such a 
crisis. But when all law was overthrown, and the 
raging mob swayed hither and thither at its will, 
and nobles were murdered on the high way or hung 
at lamp-posts in the street, and each night the hori- 
zon was illumined by the conflagration of their cha- 
teaux, a husband and father can hardly be severely 
censured for endeavoring to escape with his wife and 
children from such scenes of horror. 

A year of gloom now slowly passed away, almost 
every moment of which was embittered by disap- 
pointed hopes and gathering fears. The emigrants, 
who were assembled at Coblentz, on the frontiers of 
Germany, were organizing an army for the invasion 
of France and the restoration of the regal power. 
The people were very fearful that the king and queen 



136 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1789 

might escape, ^rii, joining the emigrants, add im- 
measurably to their moral strength. There were 
thousands in France, overawed by the terrors of the 
mob, who would most eagerly have rallied around 
the banners of such an invading army, headed by 
their own king. Louis, however, with his character- 
istic want of energy, was very unwilling to assume a 
hostile attitude toward his subjects, and still vainly 
hoped, by concessions and by the exhibition of a for- 
giving spirit, to reconcile his disaffected people. 

On the morning after the arrival of the king and 
queen at the Tuileries, an occurrence took place highly 
characteristic of the times. A crowd of profligate 
women, the same who bestrode the cannon the day 
before, insulting the queen with the most abusive 
language, collected under the queen's windows, upon 
the terrace of the palace. Maria, hearing their out- 
cries, came to the window. A furious termagant 
addressed her, telling her that she must dismiss all 
such courtiers as ruin kings, and that she must love 
the inhabitants of her good city. The queen replied, 

"I have loved them at Versailles, and will also 
love them at Paris." 

"Yes! yes!" answered another. " But you wanted 
to besiege the city and have it bombarded. And 
you wanted to fly to the frontiers and join the emi- 
grants." 

The queen mildly repHed, "You have been told 



1789] THE PALACE A PRISON 137 

so, my friends, and have believed it, and that is the 
cause of the unhappiness of the people and of the 
best of kings." 

Another addressed her in German, to which the 
queen answered, " 1 do not understand you. 1 have 
become so entirely French as even to have forgotten 
my mother tongue." 

At this they all clapped their hands, and shouted, 
"Bravo! bravo!" They then asked for the ribbons 
and flowers out of her hat. Her majesty unfastened 
them herself, and then tossed them out of the win- 
dow to the women. They were received with great 
eagerness, and divided among the party; and for half 
an hour they kept up the incessant shout, "Maria 
Antoinette forever! Our good queen forever!" 

In the course of a few v/eeks some of the devoted 
friends of the queen had matured a plan by which 
her escape could be, without difficulty, effected. The 
queen, whose penetrating mind fully comprehended 
the peril of her situation, replied, while expressing 
the deepest gratitude to her friends for their kindness, 
" I will never leave either the king or my children. 
If 1 thought that I alone were obnoxious to public 
hatred, 1 would instantly offer my life as a sacrifice. 
But it is the throne which is aimed at. In abandon- 
ing the king, no other advantage can be obtained 
than merely saving my life; and 1 will never be 
guilty of such an act of cowardice." 



138 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1789 

The following letter, which she wrote at this time 
to a friend, in reply to a letter of sympathy in refer- 
ence to the outrage which had torn her from Ver- 
sailles, will enable one to form a judgment of her 
situation and state of mind at that time. 

" I shed tears of affection on reading your sympa- 
thizing letter. You talk of my courage; it required 
much less to go through the dreadful crisis of that 
day than is now daily necessary to endure our situa- 
tion, our own griefs, those of our friends, and those 
of the persons who surround us. This is a heavy 
weight to sustain; and but for the strong ties by 
which my heart is bound to my husband, my chil- 
dren, and my friends, I should wish to sink under it. 
But you bear me up. I ought to sacrifice such feel- 
ings to your friendship. But it is I who bring mis- 
fortune on you all, and all your troubles are on my 
account." 

The queen now lived for some time in much re- 
tirement. She employed the mornings in superintend- 
ing the education of her son and daughter, both of 
whom received all their lessons in her presence, and 
she endeavored to occupy her mind, continually agi- 
tated as it was by ever-recurring scenes of outrage 
and of danger, by working large pieces of tapestry. 
She could not sufficiently recall her thoughts from the 



i79o] THE PALACE A PRISON 139 

anxieties which continually engrossed them to engage 
in reading. The king was extremely unwilling to 
seek protection in flight, lest the throne should be 
declared vacant, and he should thus lose his crown. 
He was ever hoping that affairs would soon take 
such a turn that harmony would be restored to his 
distracted kingdom. Maria Antoinette, however, who 
had a much more clear discernment of the true state 
of affairs, soon felt convinced that reconciliation, un- 
less effected by the arm of power, was hopeless, and 
she exerted all her influence to rouse the king to 
vigorous measures for escape. While firmly resolved 
never to abandon her husband and her family to save 
her own life, she still became very anxious that all 
should endeavor to escape together. 

About this time the Marquis of Favras was ac- 
cused of having formed a plan for the rescue of the 
royal family. He was very hastily tried, the mob 
surrounding the tribunal and threatening the judges 
with instant death unless they should condemn him. 
He was sentenced to be hung, and was executed, 
surrounded by the insults and execrations of the pop- 
ulace of Paris. The marquis left a wife and a little 
boy overwhelmed with grief and in hopeless poverty. 
On the following Sunday morning, some extremely 
injudicious friends of the queen, moved with sympathy 
for the desolated family, without consulting the queen 
upon the subject, presented the widow and the or- 



I40 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1790 

phan in deepest mourning at court. The husband 
and father had fallen a sacrifice to his love for the 
queen and her family. The queen was extremely 
embarrassed. What course could she with safety 
pursue ? If she should yield to the dictates of her 
own heart, and give expression to her emotions of 
sympathy and gratitude, she would rouse to still 
greater fury the indignation of the populace who 
were accusing her of the desire to escape, and who 
considered this desire as one of the greatest of crimes. 
Should she, on the other hand, surrender herself to 
the dictates of prudence, and neglect openly to man- 
ifest any special interest in their behalf, how severely 
must she be censured by the Loyalists for her ingrat- 
itude toward those who had been irretrievably ruined 
through their love for her. 

The queen was extremely pained by this unex- 
pected and impolitic presentation; for the fate of 
others, far dearer to her than her own life, were in- 
volved in her conduct. She withdrew from the pain- 
ful scene to her private apartment, threw herself into 
a chair, and,, weeping bitterly, said to an intimate 
friend, "We must perish! We are assailed by men 
who possess extraordinary talent, and who shrink 
from no crime. We are defended by those who have 
the kindest intentions, but who have no adequate 
idea of our situation. They have exposed me to the 
animosity of both parties by presenting to me the 



I790] THE PALACE A PRISON 141 

widow and the son of the Marquis of Favras. Were 
I free to act as my heart impels me, I should take 
the child of the man who has so nobly sacrificed 
himself for us, and adopt him as my own, and place 
him at the table between the king and myself. But, 
surrounded by the assassins who have destroyed his 
father, 1 did not dare even to cast my eyes upon him. 
The Royalists will blame me for not having appeared 
interested in this poor child. The Revolutionists will 
be enraged at the idea that his presentation should 
have been thought agreeable to me." The next day 
the queen sent, by a confidential friend, a purse of 
gold to Madame Favras, and assured her that she 
would ever watch, with the deepest interest, over her 
fortune and that of her son. 

Innumerable plans were now formed for the res(;ue 
of the royal family, and abandoned. The king could 
not be roused to energetic action. His passive courage 
was indomitable, but he could not be induced to act 
on the offensive, and, still hoping that by a spirit of 
conciliation he might win back the affections of his 
people, he was extremely reluctant to take any meas- 
ures by which he should be arrayed in hostility against 
them. Maria, on the contrary, knew that decisive 
action alone could be of any avail. One night, about 
ten o'clock, the king and queen were sitting in their 
private apartment of the Tuileries, endeavoring to be- 
guile the melancholy hours by a game of cards. The 



142 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1790 

sister of the king, Madame Elizabeth, with a very 
pensive countenance, was kneeling upon a stool, by 
the side of the table, overlooking the game. A no- 
bleman. Count d'lnisdal, devotedly attached to the 
fortunes of the royal family, entered, and, in a low 
tone of voice, informed the king and queen that a 
plan was already matured to rescue them that very 
night; that a section of the National Guard was gained 
over, that sets of fleet horses were placed in relays at 
suitable distances, that carriages were ready, and that 
now they only wanted the king's consent, and' the 
scheme, at midnight, would be carried into execu- 
tion. The king listened to every word without the 
movement of a muscle of his countenance, and, fixing 
his eyes upon the cards in his hand, as if paying no 
attention to what had been said, uttered not a syl- 
lable. For some time there was perfect silence. At 
last Maria Antoinette, who was extremely anxious 
that the king should avail himself of this opportunity 
for escape, broke the embarrassing silence by saying, 
"Do you hear, sir, what is said to us?" "Yes," 
rephed the king, calmly, "I hear," and he continued 
his game. Again there was a long silence. The 
queen, extremely anxious and impatient, for the hour 
of midnight was drawing near, again interrupted the 
silence by saying earnestly, "But, sir, some reply 
must be made to this communication." The king 
paused for a moment, and then, still looking upon 



1789] THE PALACE A PRISON 143 

the cards in his hand, said, "" The king can not con- 
sent to be carried off. ' ' Maria Antoinette was greatly 
disappointed at the want of decision and of magnanim- 
ity implied in this answer. She, however, said to the 
nobleman very eagerly, "Be careful and report this 
answer correctly, the king can not consent to be car- 
ried off." The king's answer was doubtless intended 
as a tacit consent while he wished to avoid the re- 
sponsibility of participating in the design. The count, 
however, was greatly displeased at this answer, and 
said to his associates, "I understand it perfectly. He 
is willing that we should seize and carry him, as if 
by violence, but wishes, in case of failure, to throw 
all the blame upon those who are periling their hves 
to save him." The queen hoped earnestly that the 
enterprise would not be abandoned, and sat up till 
after midnight preparing her cases of valuables, and 
anxiously watching for the coming of their deliverers. 
But the hours lingered away, and the morning 
dawned, and the palace was still their prison. The 
queen, shortly after, remarking upon this indecision 
of the king, said, "We must seek safety in flight. 
Our peril increases every day. No one can tell to 
what extremities these disturbances will lead." 

La Fayette had informed the king, that, should he 
see any alarming movement among the disaffected, 
threatening the exposure of the royal family to new 
acts of violence, he would give them an intimation of 



144 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1789 

their danger by the discharge of a few cannon from 
the battery upon the Pont Neuf. One night the re- 
port of guns from some casual discharge was heard, 
and the king, regarding it as the warning, in great 
alarm flew to the apartments of the queen. She was 
not there. He passed hastily from room to room, and 
at last found her in the chamber of the dauphin, with 
her two children in her arms. "Madame," said the 
king to her, "I have been seeking you. I was very 
anxious about you." "You find me," replied the 
queen pointing to her children, "at my station," 

Several unavailing attempts were made at this 
time to assassinate the queen. These discoveries, 
however, seemed to cause Maria no alarm, and she 
could not be induced to adopt any precautions for her 
personal safety. Rarely did a day pass in which she 
did not encounter, in some form, ignominy or insult. 
As the heat of summer came on, the royal family re- 
moved to the palace of St. Cloud without any opposi- 
tion, though the National Guard followed them, 
professedly for their protection, but, in reality, to 
guard against their escape. Here another plan was 
formed for flight. The different members of the royal 
family, in disguise, were to meet in a wood four 
leagues from St Cloud. Some friends of the royal 
family, who could be perfectly relied upon, were there 
to join them. A large carriage was to be in attend- 
ance, sufficient to conduct the whole family. The 



1789] THE PALACE A PRISON 145 

attendants at the palace would have no suspicion of 
their escape until nine o'clock in the evening, as the 
royal carriages were frequently out until that hour, 
and it would then take some time to send to Paris 
to call together the National Assembly at midnight, 
and to send couriers to overtake the fugitives. Thus, 
with fleet horses and fresh relays, and having six or 
seven hours the start, the king and queen might hope 
to escape apprehension. The queen very highly ap- 
proved of this plan, and was very anxious to have it 
carried into execution. But for some unknown reason, 
the attempt was relinquished. 

There were occasional exhibitions of strong indi- 
vidual attachment for the king and queen which 
would, for a moment, create the illusion that a reac- 
tion had commenced in the public mind. One day 
the queen was sitting in her apartment at St. Cloud, 
in the deepest dejection of spirits, mechanically work- 
ing upon some tapestry to occupy the joyless and 
lingering hours. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. 
The palace was deserted and silent. The very earth 
and sky seemed mourning in sympathy with the 
mourning queen. Suddenly, an unusual noise, as of 
m.any persons conversing in an under tone, was heard 
beneath the window. The queen immediately rose 
and went to the window; for every unaccustomed 
sound was, in such perilous times, an occasion of 
alarm. Below the balcony, she saw a group of some 

M. ofH.— 1— 10 



146 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1789 

fifty persons, men and women, from the country, ap- 
parently anxious to catch a glimpse of her. They 
were evidently humble people, dressed in the costume 
of peasants. As soon as they saw the queen, they gave 
utterance to the most passionate expressions of attach- 
ment and devotion. The queen, who had long been 
accustomed only to looks and words of defiance and 
insult, was entirely overpowered by these kind words, 
and could not refrain from bursting into tears. The 
sight of the weeping queen redoubled the affectionate 
emotions of the loyal group, and, with the utmost 
enthusiasm, they reiterated their assurances of love 
and their prayers for her safety. A lady of the queen's 
household, apprehensive that the scene might arrest 
the attention of the numerous spies who surrounded 
them, led her from the window. The affectionate 
group, appreciating the prudence of the measure, with 
tears of sympathy expressed their assent, and with 
prayers, tears, and benedictions retired. Maria was 
deeply touched by these unwonted tones of kindness, 
and, throwing herself into her chair, sobbed with un- 
controllable emotion. It was long before she could 
regain her accustomed composure. 

Many unsuccessful attempts were made at this 
time to assassinate the queen. A wretch by the 
name of Rotondo succeeded one day in scaling the 
walls of the garden, and hid himself in the shrubbery, 
intending to stab the queen as she passed in her 



1789] THE PALACE A PRISON 147 

usual solitary promenade. A shower prevented the 
queen from going into the garden, and thus her life 
was saved. And yet, though the assassin was dis- 
covered and arrested, the hostility of the public toward 
the royal family was such that he was shielded from 
punishment. 

The king and queen occasionally held private in- 
terviews at midnight, with chosen friends, secretly 
introduced to the palace, in the apartment of the 
queen. And there, in low tones of voice, and fearful 
of detection by the numerous spies which infested 
the palace, they would deliberate upon their peril, 
and upon the innumerable plans suggested for their 
extrication. Some recommended the resort to vio- 
lence; that the king should gather around him as 
many of his faithful subjects as possible, and settle 
the difficulties by an immediate appeal to arms. 
Others urged further compromise, and the spirit of 
conciliation, hoping that the king might thus regain 
his lost popularity, and re-establish his tottering 
throne. Others urged, and Maria coincided most 
cordially in this opinion, that it was necessary for the 
royal family to escape from Paris immediately, which 
was the focus of disaffection, and at a safe distance, 
surrounded by their armed friends, to treat with their 
enemies and to compel them to reasonable terms. The 
indecision of the king, however, appeared to be an in- 
superable obstacle in the way of any decisive action. 



148 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1789 

One day a delegation appeared before the royal 
family from the conqtierors of the Bastille, with a new 
year's gift for the young dauphin. The present con- 
sisted of a box of dominoes curiously wrought from 
the stone of which that celebrated state prison was 
built. It was an ingenious plan to insult the royal 
family under the pretense of respect and affection, for 
on the lid of the box there was engraved the follow- 
ing sentiment: 

"■ These stones, from the walls which inclosed the 
innocent victims of arbitrary power, have been con- 
verted into a toy, to be presented to yon, monseigneur, 
as an homage of the people's love, and to teach you 
the extent of their power. 

About this time, the two aunts of the king left 
France, ostensibly for the purpose of traveling, but, 
in reality, a,s an experiment, to see what opposition 
would be made to prevent members of the royal 
family from leaving the kingdom. As soon as their 
intention was known, it excited the greatest popular 
ferment. A vast crowd of men and women assem- 
bled at the palace, to prevent, if possible, with law- 
less violence, their departure. It was merely two 
elderly ladies who wished to leave France, but the 
excitement pervaded even the army, and many of the 
soldiers joined the mob in the determination that 
they should not be permitted to depart. The traces 



1789] THE PALACE A PRISON 149 

of the carriages were cut, and the officers, who tried 
to protect the princesses, were nearly murdered. The 
whole nation was agitated by the attempts of these 
two peaceful ladies to visit Rome. When at some 
distance from Paris, they were arrested, and the re- 
port of their arrest was sent to the National Assem- 
bly. The king found the excitement so great, that 
he wrote a letter to the Assembly, informing them 
that his aunts wished to leave France to visit other 
countries, and that, though he witnessed their separa- 
tion from him and his family with much regret, he 
did not feel that he had any right to deprive them 
of the privilege which the humblest citizens enjoyed, 
of going whenever and wherever they pleased. The 
question of their detention was for a long time de- 
bated in the Assembly. "What right," said one, 
"have we to prohibit these ladies from traveling." 
"We have a law," another indignantly replied, "par- 
amount to all others — the law which commands us 
to take care of the public safety." The debate was 
finally terminated by the caustic remark of a mem- 
ber who was ashamed of the protracted discussion. 
"Europe," said he, "will be greatly astonished, no 
doubt, on hearing that the National Assembly spent 
four hours in deliberating upon the departure of two 
ladies who preferred hearing mass at Rome rather 
than at Paris." The debate was thus terminated, and 
the ladies were permitted to depart. 



I50 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1791 

Early in the spring of 1791, the king and queen, 
who had been passing some time in Paris at the 
Tuileries, wished to return to their country seat at 
St. Cloud. Many members of the household had al- 
ready gone there, and dinner was prepared for the 
royal family at the palace for their reception. The 
carriages were at the door, and, as the king and 
queen were descending, a great tumult in the yard 
arrested their attention. They found that the guard, 
fearful that they might escape, had mutinied, and 
closed the door of the palace, declaring that they 
would not let them pass. Some of the personal friends 
of the king interposed in favor of the insulted cap- 
tives, and endeavored to secure for them more re- 
spectful treatment. They were, however, seized by 
the infuriated soldiers, and narrowly escaped with 
their lives. The king and queen returned in humilia- 
tion to their apartments, feeling that their palace was 
indeed a prison. They, however, secretly did not re- 
gret the occurrence, as it made more public the in- 
dignities to which they were exposed, and would aid 
in justifying before the community any attempts they 
might hereafter make to escape. 

The king had at length become thoroughly aroused 
to a sense of the desperate position of his affairs. 
But the royal family was watched so narrowly that 
it was now extremely difficult to make any prepara- 
tions for departure; and the king and queen, both 



i79i] THE PALACE A PRISON 151 

having been brought up surrounded by the luxuries 
and restraints of a palace, knew so little of the world, 
and yet were so accustomed to have their own way, 
that they were entirely incapable of forming any judi- 
cious plan for themselves, and, at the same time, 
they were quite unwilling to adopt the views of their 
more intelligent friends. They began, however, not- 
withstanding the most earnest remonstrances, to 
make preparations for flight by providing themselves 
with every conceivable comfort for their exile. In 
vain did their friends assure them that they could 
purchase any thing they desired in any part of Eu- 
rope; that such quantities of luggage would be only 
an encumbrance; that it was dangerous, under the 
eyes of their vigilant enemies, to be making such 
extensive preparations. Neither the king nor queen 
would heed such monitions. The queen persisted in 
her resolution to send to Brussels, piece by piece, all 
the articles of a complete and extensive wardrobe for 
herself and her children, to be ready for them there 
upon their arrival. Madame Campan, the intimate 
friend and companion of the queen, was extremely 
uneasy in view of this imprudence; but, as she could 
not dissuade the queen, she went out again and 
again, in the evening and in disguise, to purchase 
the necessary articles and have them made up. She 
adopted the precaution of purchasing but few articles 
at any one shop, and of employing various seam- 



152 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1791 

stresses, lest suspicion should be excited. She had 
the garments made for the daughter of the queen, 
cut by the measure of another young lady who ex- 
actly resembled her in size. Gradually they thus 
filled one large trunk with clothing, which was sent 
to the dwelling of a lady, one of the friends of the 
queen, who was to convey it to Brussels. 

The queen had a very magnificent dressing-case, 
which cost twelve hundred dollars. This she also 
determined that she could not leave behind. It could 
not be taken from the palace, and sent away out of 
the country, without attracting attention, and leading 
at once to the conviction that the queen was to fol- 
low it. The queen, in her innocent ignorance of 
mankind, thought that the people could be blinded 
like children, by telling them that she intended to 
send it as a present to the Archduchess Christina. 
However, by the most earnest remonstrances of her 
friends, she was induced only so far to change her 
plan as to consent that the charge d'affaires from 
Vienna should ask her at her toilet, and in the pres- 
ence of all around her, to have just such a dressing- 
case made for the archduchess. This plan was carried 
into execution, and the dressing-case was thus publicly 
made; but, as it could not be finished in season, the 
queen sent her own dressing-case, saying that she 
would keep the new one herself. It, however, did 
not deceive the spies who surrounded the queen. 



i79i] THE PALACE A PRISON 153 

They noticed all these preparations, and communicated 
them to the authorities. She also very deliberately 
collected all her diamonds and jewels in her private 
boudoir, and beguiled the anxious hours in inclosing 
them in cotton and packing them away. These dia- 
monds, carefully boxed, were placed in the hands of 
the queen's hair-dresser, a man in whom she could 
confide, to be carried by him to Brussels. He faith- 
fully fulfilled his trust. But one of the women of the 
queen, whom she did not suspect of treachery, but 
who was a spy of the Assembly, entered her boudoir 
by false keys when the queen was absent, and re- 
ported all these proceedings. The hair-dresser per- 
ished upon the scaffold for his fidelity. Let the name 
of Leonard be honored. The infamous informer has 
gone to oblivion, and we will not aid even to em- 
balm her name in contempt. 




CHAPTER VII. 
The Flight. 

Increasing excitement. — Inflammatory speech of Marat. — The king and 
queen resolve to fly. — Efforts of the king's brother. — Exasperation of the 
people. — Intention of the king. — Deliberation of the emigrants. — Dan- 
gers thicken. — The plan of flight. — The Marquis de Bouillfi. — The king 
refuses to change his plan. — The Marquis d'Agoult. — The Count de Fer- 
sen. — His noble character. — The king and queen leave the palace. — The 
queen loses her way. — Departure from Paris. — Arrival at Bondy. — De- 
parture of the Count de Fersen. — The passport. — Appearance of the fu- 
gitives. — An accident. — The journey renewed. — Emotions of the fugfi- 
tives. — Suspicions excited. — Failure of the guard. — The king recognized. 
— The dragoons and National Guard. — The post-master's son. — He forms 
an ambush. — Arrival at Varennes. — Alarm of the king. — The royal fam- 
ily arrested. — The alarm given.— The king discovers himself. — His af- 
fecting appeal. — An affecting scene. — The royal group. — Appeal of the 
queen. — Telegraphic dispatch to Paris.— Intense agony of the queen. — ■ 
Consternation in Paris. — The palace forced. — Insults to the royal family. 
— Measures to arrest the king. — The tumult subsides. 

THE ferment in the National Assembly was 
steadily and strongly increasing. Every day 
brought new rumors of the preparation of 
the emigrants to invade France, aided by the armies 
of monarchical Europe, and to desolate the rebellious 
empire with fire and sword. Tidings were floating 
upon every breeze, grossly exaggerated, of the de- 
signs of the king and queen to escape, to join the 
avenging army, and to wreak a terrible vengeance 
(154) 



i79i] THE FLIGHT 155 

upon their country. Furious speeches were made in 
the Assembly and in the streets, to rouse to madness 
the people, now destitute of work and of bread. 
"Citizens," ferociously exclaimed Marat, "watch, with 
an eagle eye, that palace, the impenetrable den where 
plots are ripening against the people. There a per- 
fidious queen lords it over a treacherous king, and 
rears the cubs of tyranny. Lawless priests there con- 
secrate the arms which are to be bathed in the blood 
of the people. The genius of Austria is there, guided 
by the Austrian Antoinette. The emigrants are there 
stimulated in their thirst for vengeance. Every night 
the nobility, with concealed daggers, steal into this 
den. They are knights of the poniard — assassins of 
the people. Why is not the property of emigrants 
confiscated — their houses burned — a price set upon 
their heads? The king is ready for flight. Watch! 
watch! a great blow is preparing — is ready to burst; 
if you do not prevent it by a counter blow more sud- 
den, more terrible, the people and liberty are annihi- 
lated." 

The king and queen, in the apartments where they 
were virtually imprisoned, read these angry and in- 
flammatory appeals, and both now felt that no further 
time was to be lost in attempting to effect their escape. 
It was known that the brother of the king, subse- 
quently Charles X., was going from court to court in 
Europe, soliciting aid for the rescue of the illustrious 



156 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1791 

prisoners. It was known that the Emperor of Austria, 
brother of Maria Antoinette, had promised to send an 
army of thirty-five thousand men to unite with the 
emigrants at Coblentz in their march upon Paris. 
Every monarch in Europe was alarmed, in view of 
the instability of his own throne, should the rebellion 
of the people against the throne in France prove tri- 
umphant; and Spain, Prussia, Sardinia, Naples, and 
Switzerland had guaranteed equal forces to assist in 
the re-establishment of the French monarchy. It is 
not strange that the exasperation of the people should 
have been aroused, by the knowledge of these facts, 
beyond all bounds. And their leaders were aware 
that they were engaged in a conflict in which defeat 
was inevitable death. 

The king had now resolved, if possible, to escape. 
He, however, declared that it never was his intention 
to join the emigrants and invade France with a foreign 
force. That, on the contrary, he strongly disapproved 
of the measures adopted by the emigrants as calcula- 
ted only to increase the excitement against the throne, 
and to peril his cause. He declared that it was only 
his wish to escape from the scenes of violence, in- 
sult, and danger to which he was exposed in Paris, 
and somewhere on the frontiers of his kingdom to 
surround himself by his loyal subjects, and there en- 
deavor amicably to adjust the difficulties which deso- 
lated the empire. The character of the king renders 



i79i] THE FLIGHT 157 

it most probable that such was his intention, and 
such has been the verdict of posterity. 

But there was another source of embarrassment 
which extremely troubled the royal family. The emi- 
grants were deliberating upon the expediency of de- 
claring the throne vacant by default of the king's 
liberty, and to nominate his brother M. le Comte 
d'Artois regent in his stead. The king greatly feared 
this moral forfeiture of the throne with which he was 
menaced under the pretense of delivering him. He 
was justly apprehensive that the advance of an in- 
vading army, under the banners of his brother, would 
be the signal for the immediate destruction of himself 
and family. Flight, consequently, had become his 
only refuge; and flight was encompassed with the 
most fearful perils. Long and agonizing were the 
months of deliberation in which the king and queen 
saw these dangers hourly accumulating around them, 
while each day the vigilance of their enemies were 
redoubled, and the chances of escape diminished. 

The following plan was at last adopted for the 
flight. The royal family were to leave Paris at mid- 
night in disguise, in two carriages for Montmedy, on 
the frontiers of France and Germany, about two hun- 
dred miles from Paris. This town was within the 
limits of France, so that the king could not be said 
to have fled from his kingdom. The nearest road 
and the great public thoroughfare led through the 



158 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1791 

city of Rheims; but, as the king had been clowned 
there, he feared that he might meet some one by 
whom he would be recognized, and he therefore de- 
termined to take a more circuitous route, by by-roads 
and through small and unfrequented villages. Relays 
of horses were to be privately conveyed to all these 
villages, that the carriages might be drawn on with 
the greatest rapidity, and small detachments of sol- 
diers were to be stationed at important posts, to re- 
sist any interruption which might possibly be at- 
tempted by the peasantry. The king also had a large 
carriage built privately, expressly for himself and his 
family, while certain necessary attendants were to fol- 
low in another. 

The Marquis de Bouille, who commanded a portion 
of the troops still faithful to the king, was the prime 
confidant and helper in this movement. He earnestly, 
but in vain, endeavored to induce the king to make 
some alterations in this plan. He entreated him, in 
the first place, not to excite suspicion by the use of 
a peculiar carriage constructed for his own use, but 
to make use of common carriages such as were 
daily seen traversing the roads. He also besought 
him to travel by the common high way, where relays 
of horses were at all times ready by night and by 
day. He represented to the king that, should he take 
the unfrequented route, it would be necessary to send 
relays of horses beforehand to all these little villages; 



ijgi] THE FLIGHT 159 

that so unusual an occurrence would attract attention 
and provoke inquiry. He urged also upon the king 
that detachments of troops sent along these solitary 
roads would excite curiosity, and would inevitably 
create suspicion. The king, however, self-willed, re- 
fused to heed these remonstrances, and persisted in 
his own plan. He, however, consented to take with 
him the Marquis d'Agoult, a man of great firmness 
and energy, to advise and assist in the unforeseen ac- 
cidents which might embarrass the enterprise. He 
also reluctantly consented to ask the Emperor of 
Austria to make a threatening movement toward the 
frontier, which would be an excuse for the movement 
through these villages of detachments of French 
troops. 

These arrangements made, the Marquis de Bouille 
sent a faithful officer to take an accurate survey of 
the road, and present a report to the king. He then, 
under various pretexts, removed to a distance those 
troops who were known to be disaffected to the 
royal cause, and endeavored to gather along the line 
of flight those in whose loyalty he thought he could 
confide. 

At the palace of the Tuileries, the secret of the 
contemplated flight had been confided only to the 
king, the queen, the Princess Elizabeth, sister of the 
king, and two or three faithful attendants. The Count 
de Fersen, a most noble-spirited young gentleman 



i6o MARIA ANTOINETTE [1791 

from Sweden, most cheerfully periled his life in under- 
taking the exterior arrangements of this hazardous 
enterprise. He had often been admitted, in the happy 
days of Maria Antoinette, to the parties and fetes 
which lent wings to the hours at the Little Trianon, 
and chivalrous admiration of her person and character 
induced him to consecrate himself with the most pas- 
sionate devotion to her cause. Three soldiers of the 
body-guard, Valorg, Monstrei, and Maldan, were also 
received into confidence, and unhesitatingly engaged 
in an enterprise in which success was extremely 
problematical, and failure was certain death. They, 
disguised as servants, were to mount behind the car- 
riages, and protect the royal family at all risks. 

The night of the 20th of June at length arrived, 
and the hearts of the royal inmates of the Tuileries 
throbbed violently as the hour approached which was 
to decide their destiny. At the hour of eleven, ac- 
cording to their custom, they took leave of those 
friends who were in the habit of paying their respects 
to them at that time, and dismissed their attendants 
as if to retire to their beds. As soon as they were 
alone, they hastily, and with trembling hands, dressed 
themselves in the disguises which had been prepared 
for their journey, and by different doors and at dif- 
ferent times left the palace. It was the dark hour of 
midnight. The lights glimmered feebly from the 
lamps, but still there was the bustle of crowds com- 



i79i] THE FLIGHT i6i 

ing and going in those ever-busy streets. The queen, 
in her traveling dress, leaning upon the arm of one 
of the body-guard, and leading her little daughter 
Maria Theresa by the hand, passed out at a door in 
the rear of the palace, and hastened through the Place 
du Carrousel, and, losing her way, crossed the Seine 
by the Pont Royal, and wandered for some time 
through the darkest and most obscure streets before 
she found the two hackney-coaches which were wait- 
ing for them at the Quai des Theatins. The king 
left the palace in a similar manner, leading his son 
Louis by the hand. He also lost his way in the un- 
frequented streets through which it was necessary for 
him to pass. The queen waited for half an hour in 
the most intense anxiety before the king arrived. At 
last, however, all were assembled, and, entering the 
hackney-coaches, the Count de Fersen, disguised as a 
coachman, leaped up on the box, and the wheels 
rattled over the pavements of the city as the royal 
family fled in this obscurity from their palace and 
their throne. The emotions excited in the bosoms of 
the illustrious fugitives were too intense, and the 
perils to which they were exposed too dreadful, to 
allow of any conversation. Grasping each other's 
hands, they sat in silence through the dark hours, 
with the gloomy remembrance of the past oppressing 
their spirits, and with the dread that the light of 
morning might introduce them to new disasters. A 

M. ofH.-i-ii 



i62 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1791 

couple of hours of silence and gloom passed slowly 
away, and the coaches arrived at Bondy, the first 
stage from Paris. The gray dawn of the morning 
was just appearing in the east as they hurriedly 
changed their coaches for the large traveling carriage 
the king had ordered and another coach which there 
awaited them. Count de Fersen kissed the hands of 
the king and queen, and leaving them, according to 
previous arrangements, with their attendants, hastened 
the same night by another route to Brussels, in order 
to rejoin the royal family at a later period. 

The king's carriages now rolled rapidly on toward 
Chalons, an important town on their route. The 
queen had assumed the title and character of a Ger- 
man baroness returning to Frankfort with her two 
children; the king was her valet de chambre, the 
Princess Elizabeth, the king's sister, was her waiting- 
maid. The passport was made out in the following 
manner: 

" Permit to pass Madame the Baroness of Korf, 
who is returning to Frankfort with her two children, 
her waiting-maid, her valet de chambre, and three 
domestics. 

"The Minister of Foreign Affairs. 

"MONTMORIN." 

At each post-house on the road relays of eight 
horses were waiting for the royal carriages. When 



i79i] THE FLIGHT 163 

the sun rose over the hills of France they were al- 
ready many leagues from the capital, and as the car- 
riages rattled furiously along over hill and dale, the 
unwonted spectacle on that unfrequented road at- 
tracted much attention. At every little village where 
they stopped for an exchange of horses, the villagers 
gathered in groups around the carriages, admiring the 
imposing spectacle. The king was fully aware that 
the knowledge of his escape could not long be con- 
cealed from the authorities at Paris, and that all the 
resources of his foes would immediately be put into 
requisition to secure his arrest. They therefore pressed 
on with the utmost speed, that they might get as far as 
possible on their way before the pursuit should com- 
mence. The remarkable size and structure of the 
carriage which the king had caused to be constructed, 
the number of horses drawing the carriages, the mar- 
tial figures and commanding features of the three 
body-guard strangely contrasting with the livery of 
menials, the portly appearance and kingly countenance 
of Louis, who sat in a corner of the carriage in the 
garb of a valet de chambre, all these circumstances 
conspired to excite suspicion and to magnify the 
dangers of the royal family. They, however, pro- 
ceeded without interruption until they arrived at the 
little town of Montmirail, near Chalons, where, unfor- 
tunately, one of the carriages broke down, and they 



i64 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1791 

were detained an hour in making repairs. It was an 
hour of intense anxiety, for they knew that every 
moment was increasing the probability of their cap- 
ture. The carriage, however, was repaired, and they 
started again on their flight. The sun shone brightly 
upon the fields, which were blooming in all the ver- 
dure of the opening summer. The seclusion of the 
region through which they were passing was enchant- 
ing to their eyes, weary of looking out upon the 
tumultuous mobs of Paris. The children, worn out 
by the exhaustion of a sleepless night, were peacefully 
slumbering in their parents' arms. Each revolution 
of the wheels was bringing them nearer to the 
frontier, where their faithful friend, M. de Bouille, was 
waiting, with his loyal troops, to receive them. A 
gleam of hope and joy now rose in their bosoms; and, 
as they entered the town of Chalons, at half past 
three o'clock in the afternoon, smiles of joy lighted 
their countenances, and they began to congratulate 
themselves that they were fast approaching the end 
of their dangers and their sufferings. As the horses 
were changing, a group of idlers gathered around the 
carriages. The king, emboldened by his distance 
from the capital, imprudently looked out at the win- 
dow of the carriage. The post-master, who had 
been in Paris, instantly recognized the king. He, 
however, without the manifestation of the least sur- 



i79i] THE FLIGHT 165 

prise, aided in harnessing the horses, and ordered 
the postillion to drive on. He would not be an ac- 
complice in arresting the escape of the king. 

At the next relay, at Point Sommeville, quite a 
concourse gathered around the carriages, and the 
populace appeared uneasy and suspicious. They 
watched the travelers very narrowly, and were ob- 
served to be whispering with one another, and mak- 
ing ominous signs. No one, however, ventured to 
make any movement to detain the carriages, and they 
proceeded on their way. A detachment of fifty hus- 
sars had been appointed to meet the king at this 
spot. They were there at the assigned moment. 
The breaking down of the carriage, however, detained 
the king, and the hussars, observing the suspicions 
their presence was awaking, departed half an hour 
before the arrival of the carriages. Had the king ar- 
rived but one half hour sooner, the safety of the 
royal family would have been secured. The king 
was surprised and alarmed at not meeting the guard 
he had anticipated, and drove rapidly on to the next 
relay at Sainte Menehould. It was now half past 
seven o'clock of a beautiful summer's evening. The 
sun was just sinking below the horizon, but the 
broad light still lingered upon the valleys and the 
hills. As they were changing the horses, the king, 
alarmed at not meeting the friends he expected, put 
his head out of the wmdow to see if any friend was 



i66 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1791 

there who could inform him why the detachments 
were detained. The son of the post-master instantly 
recognized the king by his resemblance to the im- 
print upon the coins in circulation. The report was 
immediately whispered about among the crowd, but 
there was not sufficient force, upon the spur of the 
moment, to venture to detain the carriages. There was 
in the town a detachment of troops, friendly to the 
king, who would immediately have come to his res- 
cue had the people attempted to arrest him. It was 
whispered among the dragoons that the king was in 
the carriage, and the commandant immediately ordered 
the troops to mount their horses and follow to pro- 
tect the royal family; but the National Guard in the 
place, far more numerous, surrounded the barracks, 
closed the stables, and would not allow the soldiers 
to depart. 

The king, entirely unconscious of these move- 
ments, was pursuing his course toward the next 
relay. Young Drouet, however, the post-master's son, 
had immediately, upon recognizing the king, saddled 
his fleetest horse, and started at his utmost speed for 
the post-house at Varennes, that he might, before the 
king's arrival, inform the municipal authorities of his 
suspicions, and collect a sufficient force to detain the 
travelers. One of the dragoons, witnessing the pre^ 
cipitate departure of Drouet, and suspecting its cause, 
succeeded in mounting his horse, and pursued him, 



i79i] THE FLIGHT 167 

resolved to overtake him, and either detain him until 
the king had passed, or take his life. Drouet, how- 
ever, perceiving that he was pursued, plunged into 
the wood, with every by-path of which he was fa- 
miliar, and, in the darkness of the night, eluded his 
pursuer, and arrived at Varennes, by a very much 
shorter route than the carriage road, nearly two hours 
before the king. He immediately communicated to a 
band of young men his suspicions, and they, emulous 
of the glory of arresting their sovereign, did not in- 
form the authorities or arouse the populace, but, arm- 
ing themselves, they formed an ambush to seize the 
persons of the travelers. It was half past seven 
o'clock of a cold, dark, and gloomy night, when the 
royal family, exhausted with twenty-four hours of in- 
cessant anxiety and fatigue, arrived at the few strag- 
gling houses in the outskirts of the village of 
Varennes. They there confidently expected to find 
an escort and a relay of horses provided by their 
careful friend, M. Bouille. 

A small river passes through the little town of 
Varennes, dividing it into two portions, the upper 
and lower town, which villages are connected by a 
bridge crossing the stream. The king, by some mis- 
understanding, expected to find the relay upon the side 
of the river before crossing the bridge. But the fresh 
horses had been judiciously placed upon the other 
side of the river, so that the carriages, having crossed 



i68 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1791 

the bridge at full speed, could more easily, with a 
change of horses, hasten unmolested on their way. 
The king and queen, greatly alarmed at finding no 
horses, left the carriage, and wandered about in sad 
perplexity for half an hour, through the dark, silent, 
and deserted streets. In most painful anxiety, they 
returned to their carriages, and decided to cross the 
river, hoping to find the horses and their friends in 
the upper town. The bridge was a narrow stone struc- 
ture, with its entrance surmounted by a gloomy, mass- 
ive arch, upon which was reared a tower, a relic of 
the feudal system, which had braved the storms of 
centuries. Here, under this dark archway, Drouet and 
his companions had formed their ambuscade. The 
horses had hardly entered the gloomy pass, when they 
were stopped by a cart which had been overturned, 
and five or six armed men, seizing their heads, ordered 
the travelers to alight and exhibit their passports. 
The three body-guard seized their arms, and were 
ready to sacrifice their lives in the attempt to force 
the passage, but the king would allow no blood to 
be shed. The horses were turned round by the cap- 
tors, and the carriages were escorted by Drouet and 
his comrades to the door of a grocer named Sausse, 
who was the humble mayor of this obscure town. 
At the same time, some of the party rushed to the 
church, mounted the belfry, and rang the alarm bell. 
The solemn booming of that midnight bell roused the 



i79i] THE FLIGHT 169 

afTrighted inhabitants from their pillows, and soon the 
whole population was gathered around the carriages 
and about the door of the grocer's shop. It was in 
vain for the king to deny his rank. His marked 
features betrayed him. Clamor and confusion filled 
the night air. Men, women and children were run- 
ning to and fro ; the populace were arming, to be 
prepared for any emergency; and the royal family 
were worn out by sleeplessness and toil. At last 
Louis made a bold appeal to the magnanimity of his 
foes. Taking the hand of Sausse, he said, 

"Yes! I am your king, and in your hands I place 
my destiny, and that of my wife, my sister, and my 
children. Our lives and the fate of the empire depend 
upon you. Permit me to continue my journey. I 
have no design of leaving the country. I am but go- 
ing to the midst of a part of the army, and in a 
French town, to regain my real liberty, of which the 
factions at Paris deprive me. From thence 1 wish to 
make terms with the Assembly, who, like myself, are 
held in subjection through fear, I am not about to 
destroy but to save and to secure the Constitution. If 
you detain me, 1 myself, France, all, are lost. 1 con- 
jure you, as a father, as a man, as a citizen, leave the 
road free to us. In an hour we shall be saved, and 
with us France is saved. And, if you have any re- 
spect for one whom you profess to regard as your 



I70 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1791 

master, I command you, as your king, to permit us 
to depart." 

The appeal touched the heart of the grocer and 
the captors by whom the king was surrounded. 
Tears came into the eyes of many, they hesitated; 
the expression of their countenances showed that they 
would willingly, if they dared to consult the dictates 
of their own hearts, let the king pass on. A more 
affecting scene can hardly be imagined. It was mid- 
night. Torches and flambeaux were gleaming around. 
Men, women, and children were hurrying to and fro 
in the darkness. The alarm bell was pealing out its 
hurried sounds through the still air. A crowd of 
half-dressed peasants and artisans was rapidly accumu- 
lating about the inn. The king stood pleading with 
his subjects for liberty and life, far more moved by 
compassion for his wife and children than for him- 
self. The children, weary and terrified, and roused 
suddenly from the sleep in which they had been lost 
in their parents' arms, gazed upon the strange scene 
with undefined dread, unconscious of the magnitude 
of their peril. The queen, seated upon a bale of goods 
in the shop, with her two children clinging to her 
side, plead, at times with the tears of despair, and 
again with all the majesty of her queenly nature, for 
pity or for justice. She hoped that a woman's heart 
throbbed beneath the bosom of the wife of the mayor, 
and made an appeal to her which one would think 



i79i] THE FLIGHT 171 

that, under the circumstances, no human heart could 
have resisted. 

"You are a mother, madame," said the queen, in 
most imploring accents, "you are a wife! the fate of 
a wife and mother is in your hands. Think what I 
must suffer for these children — for my husband. At 
one word from you 1 shall owe them to you. The 
Queen of France will owe you more than her king- 
dom — more than life." 

"Madame," coldly replied the selfish and calculat- 
ing woman, "I should be happy to help you if I 
could without danger. You are thinking of your 
husband, 1 am thinking of mine. It is a wife's first 
duty to think of her own husband." 

The queen saw that all appeals to such a spirit 
must be in vain, and, taking her two children by the 
hand, with Madame Elizabeth ascended the stairs 
which conducted from the grocer's shop to his rooms 
above, where she was shielded from the gaze of the 
crowd. She threw herself into a chair, and, over- 
whelmed with anguish, burst into a flood of tears. 
The alarm bell continued to ring; telegraphic dis- 
patches were sent to Paris, communicating tidings of 
the arrest; the neighboring villagers flocked into 
town; the National Guard, composed of people op- 
posed to the king were rapidly assembled from all 
quarters, and the streets barricaded to prevent the 
possibility of any rescue by the soldiers who ad- 



172 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1791 

vocated the royal cause. Thus the dreadful hours 
lingered away till the morning dawned. The increas- 
ing crowd stimulated one another to ferocity and 
barbarity. Insults, oaths, and imprecations incessantly 
fellNypon the ears of the captives. The queen prob- 
ably endured as much of mental agony that night as 
the human mind is capable of enduring. The conflict 
of indignation, terror, and despair was so dreadful, 
that her hair, which the night previous had been 
auburn, was in the morning white as snow. This 
extraordinary fact is well attested, and indicates an 
enormity of woe almost incomprehensible. 

There was no knowledge in Paris of the king's 
departure until seven o'clock in the morning, when 
the servants of the palace entered the apartments of 
the king and queen, and found the beds undisturbed 
and the rooms deserted. The alarm spread like wild- 
fire through the palace and through the city. The 
alarm bells were rung, cannon were fired, and the 
cry resounded through the streets, "The king has 
fled! the king has fled!" The terrified populace were 
expecting almost at the next moment to see him re- 
turn with an avenging army to visit his rebellious 
subjects with the most terrible retribution. From all 
parts of the city, every lane, and street, and alley 
leading to the Tuileries was thronged with the crowd, 
pouring on, like an inundation, toward the deserted 
palace. The doors were forced open, and the interior 



i79i] THE FLIGHT 173 

of the palace was instantly filled with the swarming 
multitudes. The mob from the streets polluted the 
sanctuaries of royalty with every species of vulgarity 
and obscenity. An amazon market-woman took pos- 
session of the queen's bed, and, spreading her cherries 
upon it, she took her seat upon the royal couch, ex- 
claiming, "To-day it is the nation's turn to take 
their ease." One of the caps of the queen was placed 
in derision upon the head of a vile girl of the street. 
She exclaimed that it would sully her forehead, and 
trampled it under her feet with contempt. Every 
conceivable insult was heaped upon the royal family. 
Placards, posted upon the walls, offered trivial rewards 
to any one who would bring back the noxious ani- 
mals which had fled from the palace. The metropolis 
was agitated to its very center, and the most vigorous 
measures immediately adopted to arrest the king, if 
possible, before he should reach the friends who 
could afford him protection. This turmoil continued 
for many hours, till the cry passed from mouth to 
mouth, and filled the streets, "He is arrested! he is 
arrested ! " 




CHAPTER VIII. 

The Return to Paris. 

Despair of the king.— Lovely character of Madame Elizabeth.— Return to 
Paris. — Insults of the mob. — Massacre of M. Dampierre. — Commission- 
ers from Paris. — Noble character of Barnave. — Brutality of Potion. — 
Approach to Paris. — Appalling violence.— Sufferings of the royal 
family. — Arrival at the Tuileries. — Exertions of La Fayette. — Roar of 
the multitude. — Spirit of the queen. — Embarrassing position of La 
Fayette. — The palace rigorously guarded. — The queen grossly insulted. 

— Despair of the king. — Supremacy of the taob. — A brutal assemblage. 

— Ferocious inscriptions. — Attack upon the palace. — The mob force an 
entrance. — Fearlessness of the king. — The mob awed. — Courage of 
Madame Elizabeth.— Cries of the mob.— The red bonnet.— First glimpse 
of Napoleon. — The queen's apartments invaded. — Insulted by aban- 
doned women.— The queen's children.— The young girl. — Meeting of 
the National Assembly.— The king's friends derided.— The president 
of the Assembly.— The mob retires.— Deputies visit the royal family.— 
Unfeeling remark.- Hopeless condition of the royal family.— Breast- 
plate for the king. — Dagger-proof corset for the queen. — Ffete in the 
Champ de Mars.— The last appearance of the royal family in public. 

DURING all the long hours of the night, while 
the king was detained in the grocer's shop 
at Varennes, he was, with anxiety inde- 
scribable, looking every moment for soldiers to ap- 
pear, sent by M. Bouille for his rescue. But the 
National Guard, which was composed of those who 
were in favor of the Revolution, were soon assembled 
in such numbers as to render all idea of rescue hope- 
less. The sun rose upon Varennes but to show the 
(•74) 



i79i] THE RETURN TO PARIS 175 

king the utter desperation of his condition, and he 
resigned himself to despair. The streets were filled 
with an infuriated populace, and from every direction 
the people were flocking toward the focus of excite- 
ment. The children of the royal family, utterly ex- 
hausted, had fallen asleep. Madame Elizabeth, one of 
the most lovely and gentle of earthly beings, the 
sister of the king, who, through all these trials, and, 
indeed, through her whole life, manifested peculiarly 
the spirit of heaven, was, regardless of herself, ear- 
nestly praying for support for her brother and sister. 

Preparations were immediately made to forward 
the captives to Paris, lest the troops of M. Bouille, 
informed of their arrest, should come to their rescue. 
The king did every thing in his power to delay the 
departure, and one of the women of the queen feigned 
sudden and alarming illness at the moment all of the 
rest had been pressed into the carriages. But the im- 
patience of the populace could not thus be restrained. 
With shouts and threats they compelled all into the 
carriages, and the melancholy procession, escorted by 
three or four thousand of the National Guard, and fol- 
lowed by a numerous and ever-increasing concourse 
of the people moved slowly toward Paris. Hour after 
hour dragged heavily along as the fugitives, drinking 
the very dregs of humiliation, were borne by their 
triumphant and exasperated foes back to the horrors 
from which they had fled. The road was lined on 



176 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1791 

either side by countless thousands, insulting the ag- 
onized victims with derision, menaces, and the most 
furious gestures. Varennes is distant from Paris one 
hundred and eighty miles, and for this whole dis- 
tance, by night and by day, with hardly an hour's 
delay for food or repose, the royal family were ex- 
posed to the keenest torture of which the spiritual 
nature is in this world susceptible. Every revolution 
of the wheels but brought them into contact with 
fresh vociferations of calumny. The fury of the pop- 
ulace was so great that it was with difficulty that the 
guard could protect their captives from the most 
merciless massacre. Again and again there was a 
rush made at the carriages, and the mob was beaten 
back by the arms of the soldiers. One old gentle- 
man, M. Dampierre, ever accustomed to venerate roy- 
alty, stood by the road side, affected by the pro- 
foundest grief in view of the melancholy spectacle. 
Uncovering his gray hairs, he bowed respectfully to 
his royal master, and ventured to give utterance to 
accents of sympathy. The infuriated populace fell 
upon him like tigers, and tore him to pieces before 
the eyes of the king and queen. The wheels of the 
royal carriage came very near running over his bleed- 
ing corpse. 

The procession was at length met by commis- 
sioners sent from the Assembly to take charge of the 
king. Ashamed of the brutality of the people, Bar- 



i79i] THE RETURN TO PARIS 177 

nave and Petion, the two commissioners, entered the 
royal carriage to share the danger of its inmates. 
They shielded the prisoners from death, but they could 
not shield them from insult and outrage. An ecclesias- 
tic, venerable in person and in character, approached 
the carriages as they moved sadly along, and exhibited 
upon his features some traces of respect and sorrow 
for fallen royalty. It was a mortal oflFense, The bru- 
tal multitude would not endure a look even of sympathy 
for the descendant of a hundred kings. They rushed 
upon the defenseless clergyman, and would have 
killed him instantly had not Barnave most energetic- 
ally interfered. "Frenchmen!" he shouted, from the 
carriage windows, "will you, a nation of brave men, 
become a people of murderers! " Barnave was a young 
man of much nobleness of character. His polished 
manners, and his sympathy for the wrecked and 
ruined family of the king, quite won their gratitude. 
Petion, on the contrary, was coarse and brutal. He 
was a Democrat in the worst sense of that abused 
word. He affected rude and rough familiarity with 
the royal family, lounged contemptuously upon the 
cushions, ate apples and melons, and threw the rind 
out of the window, careless whether or not he hit the 
king in the face. In all his remarks, he seemed to 
take a ferocious pleasure in wounding the feelings of 
his victims. 

As the cavalcade drew near to Paris, the crowds 

M. ofH.— I— 12 



178 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1791 

surrounding the carriages became still more dense, 
and the fury of the populace more unmeasured. The 
leaders of the National Assembly were very desirous 
of protecting the royal family from the rage of the 
mob, and to shield the nation from the disgrace of 
murdering the king, the queen, and their children in 
the streets. It was feared that, when the prisoners 
should enter the thronged city, where the mob had so 
long held undisputed sway, it would be impossible to 
restrain the passions of the multitude, and that the 
pavements would be defaced with the blood of the 
victims. Placards were pasted upon the walls in every 
part of the city, "Whoever applauds the king shall 
be beaten; whoever insults him shall be hung." As 
the carriages approached the suburbs of the metrop- 
olis, the multitudes which thronged them became still 
more numerous and tumultuous, and the exhibitions 
of violence more appalling. All the dens of infamy 
in the city vomited their denizens to meet and deride, 
and, if possible, to destroy the captured monarch. It 
was a day of intense and suffocating heat. Ten persons 
were crowded into the royal carriage. Not a breath 
of air fanned the fevered cheeks of the sufferers. The 
heat, reflected from the pavements and the bayonets, 
was almost insupportable. Clouds of dust enveloped 
them, and the sufferings of the children were so great 
that the queen was actually apprehensive that they 
would die. The queen dropped the window of the 



i79i] THE RETURN TO PARIS 179 

carriage, and, in a voice of agony, implored some one 
to give her a cup of water for her fainting child. 
"See, gentlemen," she exclaimed, "in what a condi- 
tion my poor children are! one of them is choking." 
"We will yet choke them and you," was the brutal 
reply, "in another fashion." Several times the mob 
broke through the line which guarded the carriages, 
pushed aside the horses, and, mounting the steps, 
stretched their clenched fists in at the windows. The 
procession moved perseveringly along in the midst of 
the clashing of sabers, the clamor of the blood-thirsty 
multitude, and the cries of men trampled under the 
hoofs of the horses. 

It was the 25th of June, 1791, at seven o'clock in 
the evening, when this dreadful procession, passing 
through the Barrier de I'Etoile, entered the city, and 
traversed the streets, through double files of soldiers, 
to the Tuileries. At length they arrived, half dead 
with exhaustion and despair, at the palace. The 
crowd was so immense that it was with the utmost 
difficulty that an entrance could be effected. At that 
moment La Fayette, who had been adopting the 
most vigorous measures for the protection of the per- 
sons of the royal family, came to meet them. The 
moment Maria Antoinette saw him, forgetful of her 
own danger, and trembling for the body-guard who 
had periled their lives for her family, she exclaimed, 
"Monsieur La Fayette, save the body-guard." The 



i8o MARIA ANTOINETTE [1791 

king and queen alighted from the carriage. Some of 
the soldiers took the children, and carried them 
through the crowd into the palace. A member of 
the Assembly, who had been inimical to the king, 
came forward, and offered his arm to the queen for 
her protection. She looked him a moment in the 
face, and indignantly rejected the proffered aid of an 
enemy. Then, seeing a deputy who had been their 
friend, she eagerly accepted his arm, and ascended 
the steps of the palace. A prolonged roar, as of 
thunder, ascended from the multitudinous throng 
which surrounded the palace when the king and 
queen had entered, and the doors of their prison 
were again closed against them. 

La Fayette was at the head of the National Guard. 
He was a strong advocate for the rights of the peo- 
ple. At the same time, he wished to respect the 
rights of the king, and to sustain a constitutional 
monarchy. As soon as they had entered the palace, 
Maria Antoinette, with that indomitable spirit which 
ever characterized her, approached La Fayette, and 
offered to him the keys of her casket, as if he were 
her jailer. La Fayette, deeply wounded, refused to re- 
ceive them. The queen indignantly, with her own 
hands, placed them in his hat. "Your majesty, will 
have the goodness to take them back," said the mar- 
quis, "for I certainly shall not touch them." 

The position of La Fayette at this time was about 



i79i] THE RETURN TO PARIS i8i 

as embarrassing as it could possibly have been; and 
he was virtually the jailer of the royal family, answer- 
able with his hfe for their safe keeping. He had al- 
ways been a firm friend of civil and religious liberty. 
He was very anxious to see France blessed with those 
free institutions and that recognition of popular rights 
which are the glory of America, but he also wished 
to protect the king and queen from outrage and in- 
sult; and a storm of popular fury had now risen which 
he knew not how to control or to guide. He, how- 
ever, resolved to do all in his power to protect the 
royal family, and to watch the progress of events 
with the hope of establishing constitutional liberty 
and a constitutional throne over France. 

The palace was now guarded, by command of the 
Assembly, with a degree of rigor unknown before. 
The iron gates of the courts and garden of the Tui- 
leries were kept locked. A list of the persons who 
were to be permitted to see the royal family was 
made out, and none others were allowed to enter. 
At every door sentinels were placed, and in every 
passage, and in the corridor which connected the 
chambers of the king and queen, armed men were 
stationed. The doors of the sleeping apartments of 
the king and queen were kept open night and day, 
and a guard was placed there to keep his eye ever 
upon the victims. No respect was paid to female 
modesty, and the queen was compelled to retire to 



i82 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1791 

her bed under the watchful eye of an unfeeling sol- 
dier. It seems impossible that a civilized people could 
have been guilty of such barbarism. But all senti- 
ments of humanity appear to have fled from France. 
One of the queen's women, at night, would draw her 
own bed between that of the queen and the open 
door, that she might thus partially shield the person 
of her royal mistress. The king was so utterly over- 
whelmed by the magnitude of the calamities in which 
he was now involved, that his mind, for a season, 
seemed to be prostrated and paralyzed by the blow. 
For ten days he did not exchange a single word with 
any member of his family, but moved sadly about in 
the apathy of despair, or sat in moody silence. At 
last the queen threw herself upon her knees before 
him, and, presenting to him her children, besought 
him, for her sake and that of their little ones, to 
rouse his fortitude. "We may all perish," she said, 
"but let us, at least, perish like sovereigns, and not 
wait to be strangled unresistingly upon the very floor 
of our apartments." 

The long and dreary months of the autumn, the 
winter, and the spring thus passed away, with occa- 
sional gleams of hope visiting their minds, but with 
the storm of revolution, on the whole, growing con- 
tinually more black and terrific. General anarchy 
rioted throughout France. Murders were daily com- 
mitted with impunity. There was no law. The 



1792] THE RETURN TO PARIS 183 

mob had all power in their hands. Neither the king 
nor queen could make their appearance any where 
without exposure to insult. Violent harangues in the 
Assembly and in the streets had at length roused the 
populace to a new act of outrage. The immediate 
cause was the refusal of the king to give his sanc- 
tion to a bill for the persecution of the priests. It 
was the 20th of June, 1792. A tumultuous assem- 
blage of all the miserable, degraded, and vicious, who 
thronged the garrets and cellars of Paris, and who 
had been gathered from all lands by the lawlessness 
with which crime could riot in the capital, were seen 
converging, as by a common instinct, toward the 
palace. They bore banners fearfully expressive of 
their ferocity, and filled the air with the most savage 
outcries. Upon the end of a pike there was affixed 
a bleeding heart, with the inscription, "The heart of 
the aristocracy." Another bore a doll, suspended 
to a frame by the neck, with this inscription, "To 
the gibbet with the Austrian." With the ferocity of 
wolves, they surrounded the palace in a mass impen- 
etrable. The king and queen, as they looked from 
their windows upon the multitudinous gathering, 
swaying to and fro like the billows of the ocean in 
a storm, and with the clamor of human passions, 
more awful than the voice of many waters, rending 
the skies, instinctively clung to one another and to 
their children in their powerlessness. Madame Eliza- 



1 84 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1792 

beth, with her saint-like spirit and her heaven-directed 
thoughts, was ever unmindful of her own personal 
danger in her devotion to her beloved brother. 

The king hoped that the soldiers who were sta- 
tioned as a guard within the inclosures of the palace 
would be able to protect them from violence. The 
gates leading to the Place du Carrousel were soon 
shattered beneath the blows of axes, and the human 
torrent poured in with the resistlessness of a flood. 
The soldiers very deliberately shook the priming from 
their guns, as the emphatic expression to the mob 
that they had nothing to fear from them, and the ar- 
tillerymen coolly directed their pieces against the pal- 
ace. Axes and iron bars were immediately leveled at 
the doors, and they flew from their hinges; and the 
drunken and infuriated rabble, with clubs, and pistols, 
and daggers, poured, an interminable, throng, through 
the halls and apartments where kings, for ages, had 
reigned in inapproachable pomp and power. The 
servants of the king, in terror, fled in every direction. 
Still the crowd came rushing and roaring on, crashing 
the doors before them, till they approached the apart- 
ment in which the royal family was secluded. The 
king, who, though deficient in active energy, pos- 
sessed passive fearlessness in the most eminent de- 
gree, left his wife, children, and sister clinging to- 
gether, and entered the adjoining room to meet his 
assailants. Just as he entered the room, the door, 



1792] THE RETURN TO PARIS 185 

which was bolted, fell with a crash, and the mob 
was before him. For a moment the wretches were 
held at bay by the calm dignity of the monarch, as, 
without the tremor of a nerve, he gazed steadily upon 
them. The crowd in the rear pressed on upon those 
in the advance, and three friends of the king had just 
time to interpose themselves between him and the 
mob, when the whole dense throng rushed in and 
filled the room. A drunken assassin, with a sharp 
iron affixed to a long pole, aimed a thrust violently 
at the king's heart. One blow from an heroic citizen 
laid him prostrate on the floor, and he was trampled 
under the feet of the throng. Oaths and imprecations 
filled the room; knives and sabers gleamed, and yet 
the majesty of royalty, for a few brief moments, re- 
pelled the ferocity of the assassins. A few officers of 
the National Guard, roused by the peril of the king, 
succeeded in reaching him, and, crowding him into 
the embrasure of a window placed themselves as a 
shield before him. The king seemed only anxious to 
withdraw the attention of the mob from the room in 
which his family were clustered, where he saw his 
sister, Madame Elizabeth, with extended arms and im- 
ploring looks, struggling to come and share his fate. 
"It is the queen!" was the cry, and a score of 
weapons were turned toward her. "No! no!" ex- 
claimed others, "it is Madame Elizabeth." Her gen- 
tle spirit, even in these degraded hearts, had won 



i86 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1792 

admiration, and not a blow fell upon her. "Ah!" 
exclaimed Madame Elizabeth, "why do you undeceive 
them ? Gladly would I die in her place, if I might 
thus save the queen." By the surging of the crowd 
she was swept into the embrasure of another win- 
dow, where she was hemmed in without any possi- 
bility of extrication. By this time the crowds were 
like locusts, cHmbing up the balconies, and pouring in 
at the windows, and every foot of ground around the 
palace was filled with the excited throng. Shouts of 
derision filled the air, while the mob without were 
incessantly crying, "Have you killed them yet? 
Throw us out their heads." 

Almost miraculously, the friends surrounding the 
king succeeded in warding off the blows which were 
aimed at him. One of the mob thrust out to the 
king, upon the end of a pike, a red bonnet, the 
badge of the Jacobins, and there was a general shout, 
"Let him put it on! let him put it on! It is a sign 
of patriotism. If he is a patriot he will wear it." 
The king smiling, took the bonnet and put it upoh 
his head. Instantly there rose a shout from the fickle 
multitude, ''Vive U roi! " The mob had achieved 
its victory, and placed the badge of its power upon 
the brow of the humbled monarch. 

There was at that time standing in the court-yard 
of the palace a young man, with the blood boiling 
with indignation in his veins, in view of the atroci- 



1792] THE RETURN TO PARIS 187 

ties of the mob. The ignominious spectacle of the 
red bonnet upon the head of the king, as he stood in 
the recess of the window, seemed more than this 
young man could endure, and, turning upon his heel, 
he hastened away, exclaiming, "The wretches! the 
wretches! they ought to be mown down by grape- 
shot." This is the first glimpse the Revolution pre- 
sents of Napoleon Bonaparte. 

But while the king was enduring their tortures in 
one apartment, the queen was suffering indignities 
and outrages equally atrocious in another. Maria An- 
toinette was, in the eyes of the populace, the personi- 
fication of every thing to be hated. They believed 
her to be infamous as a wife; proud, tyrannical, and 
treacherous; that, as an Austrian, she hated France; 
that she was doing all in her power to induce foreign 
armies to invade the French empire with fire and 
sword; and that she had instigated the king to at- 
tempt escape, that he might head the armies. Maria, 
conscious of this hatred, was aware that her presence 
would only augment the tide of indignation swelling 
against the king, and she therefore remained in the 
bed-chamber with her children. But her sanctuary 
was instantly invaded. The door of her apartment 
had been, by some friend, closed and bolted. Its 
stout oaken panels were soon dashed in, and the 
door driven from its hinges. A crowd of miserable 
women, abandoned to the lowest depths of degrada- 



i88 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1792 

tion and vulgarity, rushed into the apartment, assail- 
ing her ears with the most obscene and loathsome 
epithets the language could afford. The queen stood 
in the recess of a window, with queenly pride 
curbing her mortal apprehension. A few friends had 
gathered around her, and placed a table before her as 
a partial protection. Her daughter, an exceedingly 
beautiful girl of fourteen years of age, with her light 
brown hair floating in ringlets over her fair brow and 
shoulders, clung to her mother's bosom as if she 
thought not of herself, but would only, with her own 
body, shield her mother's heart from the dagger of 
the assassin. Her son, but seven years old, clung to 
his mother's hand, gazing with a bewildered look of 
terror upon the hideous spectacle. The vociferations 
of the mob were almost deafening. But the aspect 
of the group, so lovely and so helpless, seemed to 
disarm the hand of violence. Now and then, in the 
endless crowd defiling through the room, those in the 
advance pressed resistlessly on by those in the rear, 
some one more tender hearted would speak a word 
of sympathy. A young girl came crowded along, 
neatly dressed, and with a pleasing countenance. She, 
however, immediately began to revile the queen in 
the coarsest language of vituperation. 

"Why do you hate me so, my friend?" said the 
queen, kindly; "have I ever done any thing to injure 
or to offend you?" 



1792] THE RETURN TO PARIS 189 

"No! you have never injured me," was the re- 
ply, "but it is you who cause the misery of the na- 
tion." 

"Poor child!" rejoined the queen, "you have been 
told so, and have been deceived. Why should 1 make 
the people miserable ? I am the wife of the king — 
the mother of the dauphin; and by all the feelings of 
my heart, as a wife and mother, I am a French- 
woman. I shall never see my own country again. I 
can only be happy or unhappy in France. I was 
happy when you loved me." 

The heart of the girl was touched. She burst into 
tears, and exclaimed, "Pardon me, good queen, I did 
not know you; but now I see that I have indeed 
been deceived, and you are truly good." 

Hour after hour of humiliation and agony thus 
rolled away. The National Assembly met, and in vain 
the friends of the king urged its action to rescue the 
royal family from the insults and perils to which they 
were exposed. But these efforts were met by the 
majority only with derision. They hoped that the 
terrors of the mob would compel the king hereafter 
to give his assent to any law whatever which they 
might frame. At last the shades of night began to 
add their gloom to this awful scene, and even the 
most bitter enemies of the king did not think it safe 
to leave forty thousand men, inflamed with intoxi- 
cation and rage, to riot, through the hours of the 



I90 MARIA ANTOINETTE ^ [1792 

night, in the parlors, halls, and chambers of the 
Tuileries. The president of the Assembly, at that late 
hour, crowded his way into the apartment where, for 
several hours, the king had been exposed to every 
conceivable indignity. The mysterious authority of 
law opened the way through the throng. 

"I have only just learned," said the president, 
"the situation of your majesty." 

"That is very astonishing," replied the king, in- 
dignantly, "for it is a long time that it has lasted." 

The president, mounted upon the shoulders of four 
grenadiers, addressed the mob and urged them to re- 
tire, and they, weary with the long hours of outrages, 
slowly sauntered through the halls and apartments of 
the palace, and at eight o'clock silence reigned, with 
the gloom of night, throughout the Tuileries. The 
moment the mob became perceptibly less, the king 
received his sister into his arms, and they hastened to 
the apartment of the queen. During all the horrors 
of this awful day, her heroic soul had never quailed; 
but, now that the peril was over, she threw herself 
upon the bosom of her husband, and wept in all the 
bitterness of inconsolable grief. As the family were 
locked in each other's arms in silent gratitude for 
their preservation, the king accidentally beheld in a 
mirror the red bonnet, which he had forgotten to re- 
move from his head. He turned red with mortifica- 
tion, and, casting upon the floor the badge of his 



1792] THE RETURN TO PARIS 191 

degradation, turned to the queen, with his eyes filled 
with tears, and exclaimed, "Ah, madame, why did I 
take you from your country, to associate you with 
the ignominy of such a day as this!" 

After the withdrawal of the mob, several of the 
deputies of the National Assembly were in the apart- 
ment with the royal family, and as the queen re- 
counted the horrors of the last five hours, one of 
them, though bitterly hostile to the royal family, 
could not refrain from tears. "You weep," said she 
to him, "at seeing the king and his family so cruelly 
treated by a people whom he always wished to make 
happy." 

"True, madame," unfeelingly replied the deputy, 
"1 weep for the misfortunes of a beautiful and sensi- 
tive woman, the mother of a family. But do not 
mistake; not one of my tears falls for either king or 
queen. I hate kings and queens. It is the only feel- 
ing they inspire me with. It is my religion." 

But time stops not. The hours of a dark and 
gloomy night, succeeding this terrible day, lingered 
slowly along, but no sleep visited the eyelids of the 
inmates of the Tuileries. Scowling guards still eyed 
them malignantly, and the royal family could not un- 
bosom to one another their sorrows but in the pres- 
ence of those who were hostile spies upon every 
word and action. Escape was now apparently hope- 
less. The events of the past day had taught them 



192 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1792 

that they had no protection against popular fury. 
And they were filled with the most gloomy forebod- 
ings of woes yet to come. 

These scenes occurred on the 20th of June, 1792. 
On the 14th of July of the same year there was to 
be a magnificent fete in the Champ de Mars, as the 
anniversary of the independence of the nation. The 
king and queen were compelled to be present to 
grace the triumph of the people, and to give the 
royal oath. It was anticipated that there would be 
many attempts on that day to assassinate the king 
and queen. Some of the friends of the royal family 
urged that they should each wear a breast-plate which 
would guard against the first stroke of a dagger, and 
thus give the king's friends time to defend him. A 
breast-plate was secretly made for the king. It con- 
sisted of fifteen folds of Italian taffeta, and was 
formed into an under waist coat and a wide belt. Its 
impenetrability was tried, and it resisted all thrusts of 
the dagger and several balls were turned aside by it. 
Madame Campan wore it for three days as an under 
petticoat before an opportunity could be found for 
the king to try it on unperceived. At length, one 
morning, in the queen's chamber, a moment's oppor- 
tunity occurred, and he slipped it on, saying, at the 
same time, to Madame Campan, "It is to satisfy the 
queen that I submit to this inconvenience. They will 



1792] THE RETURN TO PARIS 193 

not assassinate me. Their scheme is changed. They 
will put me to death in another way." 

A dagger-proof corset had also been prepared for 
the queen without her knowledge. She, however, 
could not be persuaded to wear it. "If they assas- 
sinate me," she said, "it will be a most happy 
event. It will release me from the most sorrowful 
existence, and may save from a cruel death the rest 
of the family." The 14th of July arrived. The king, 
queen, and dauphin were marched, like captives 
gracing an Oriental triumph, at the head of the pro- 
cession, from the palace to the Champ de Mars. 
With pensive features and saddened hearts they 
passed along through the single file of soldiers, who 
were barely able to keep at bay the raging mob, fu- 
rious for their blood, and maledictions fell heavily 
upon their ears from a thousand tongues. The foun- 
tain of tears was dry, and despair had nerved them 
with stoicism. They returned to the palace in the 
deepest dejection, and never again appeared in the 
streets of Paris till they were borne to their exe- 
cution. 

M. ofH.— I— 13 




CHAPTER IX. 

Imprisonment in the Temple. 

Apprehension of poison. — The queen daily insulted. — An assassin in the 
queen'^ chamber. — The allied army. — Parties in France. — The Royal- 
ists, Girondists, and Jacobins. — Consternation in Paris. — The king's de- 
thronement.— Scene from the palace. — Gathering of the mob. — The 
queen with her children. — Brutal remarks of the troops. — Rising of the 
sun. — Disaffection of the troops. — Extremity of the royal family. — 
Spirit of the queen. — The king's calmness. — The mother and the queen. 
— The royal family take refuge in the Assembly. — The king's speech. — 
The square box. — The king's serenity. — The mob at the palace. — Brutal 
massacre of the king's friends. — The mob sack the palace. — The dead 
bodies of the Royalists burned. — The king dethroned. — The royal family 
removed to the Feuillants. — Bitter sufferings of the royal family. — Taken 
back to the Assembly. — The royal family consigned to the Temple. — Ad- 
vance of the allies. — Inhuman massacre. — Description of the Temple. — 
Tower of the Temple. — Apartments of the royal family.— Obscene pic- 
tures. — Resources of the prison. — Employments of the royal family. — 
Severe restrictions. — Manner of obtaining news. — The Prince.ss I^am- 
balle. — Maria's letter to the Princess de I<amballe.— She rejoins the 
queen. — The princess separated from the queen. — She is thrown into 
prison. — Trial of the princess. — She refuses to swear. — Assassination of 
the princess. — Brutality of the mob. — Dreadful apprehensions. — In- 
creased severities. — The queen grossly insulted. — The king separated 
from his family. — Wretched state of the king. — The queen's anguish at 
the separation. — The king sees his family occasionally. — Condition of 
the captives. 

EVERY day now added to the insults and anguish 
the royal family were called to endure. They 
were under such apprehension,,. of having their 
food poisoned, that all the articles placed upon the 
table by the attendants, provided by the Assembly, 
were removed untouched, and they ate and drank 
(194) 



1792] IMPRISONMENT 195 

nothing but what was secretly provided by one of 
the ladies of the bed-chamber. One day the queen 
stood at her window, looking out sadly into the gar- 
den of the Tuileries, when a soldier, standing under 
the window, with his bayonet upon his gun, looked 
up to her and said, " 1 wish, Austrian woman, tihat f 
had your head upon my bayonet here, that I might 
pitch it over the wall to the dogs in the street." 
And this man was placed under her window osten- 
sibly for her protection! Whenever the queen made 
her appearance in the garden, she encountered insults 
often too outrageous to be related. An assassin, one 
night, with his sharpened dagger, endeavored to pen- 
etrate her chamber. She was awoke by the noise 
of the struggle with the guard at the door. The as- 
sassin was arrested. "What a life!" exclaimed the 
queen. "Insults by day, and assassins by night! 
But let him go. He came to murder me. Had he 
succeeded, the Jacobins would have borne him to- 
morrow in triumph through the streets of Paris. 

The allied army, united with the emigrants, in a 
combined force of nearly one hundred and fifty thou- 
sand men, now entered the frontiers of France, to 
rescue, by military power, the royal family. They 
issued a proclamation, in which it was stated that 
"the allied sovereigns had taken up arms to stop the 
anarchy which prevailed in France — to give liberty 
to the king, and restore him lO the legitimate author- 



196 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1792 

ity of which he had been deprived." The proclama- 
tion assured the people of Paris that, if they did not 
immediately liberate the king and return to their al- 
legiance, the city of Paris should be totally destroyed, 
and that the enemies of the king should forfeit their 
heads. This proclamation, with the invasion of the 
French territory by the allied army, fanned to the in- 
tensest fury the flames of passion already raging in 
all parts of the empire. Thousands of young men 
from all the provinces thronged into the city, breath- 
ing vengeance against the royal family. In vain did 
the king declare his disapproval of these violent 
measures on the part of the allies. In vain did he 
assert his readiness to head the armies of France to 
repel invasion. 

There were now three important parties in France 
struggling for power. The first was that of the king, 
and the nobles generally, wishing for the re-establish- 
ment of the monarchy. The second was that of the 
Girondists, wishing for the dethronement of the king 
and the establishment of a republic, with the power 
in the hands of the most influential citizens in intelli- 
gence and wealth. The third was that of the ultra 
Democrats or Jacobins, who wished to raise the mul- 
titude from degradation, penury, and infamy, into 
power, by the destruction of the throne, and the sub- 
jection of the middling^ classes, and the entire sub- 
version of all the disiinctions of wealth and rank. 



1792] IMPRISONMENT 197 

The approach of the allies united both of these latter 
classes against the throne. A motion was immedi- 
ately introduced into the Assembly that the monarchy 
be entirely abolished, and a mob rioting through 
Paris threatened the deputies with death unless they 
dethroned the king. But an army of one hundred 
and fifty thousand men were marching upon Paris, 
and the deputies feared a terrible retribution if this 
new insult were heaped upon their sovereign. No 
person can describe the confusion and consternation 
with which the metropohs of France was filled. The 
mob declared, on the 9th of August, that, unless 
the dethronement were that day pronounced, they 
would that night sack the palace, and bear the heads 
of the royal family through the streets upon their 
pikes. The Assembly, undecided, and trembling be- 
tween the two opposing perils, separated without the 
adoption of any resolve. All knew that a night of 
dreadful tumult and violence must ensue. Some 
hundreds of gentlemen collected around the king and 
queen, resolved to perish with them. Several regi- 
ments of soldiers were placed in and around the 
palace to drive back the mob, but it was well known 
that the troops would more willingly fraternize with 
the multitude than oppose them. The sun went 
down, and the street lamps feebly glimmered through 
the darkness of the night. The palace was filled 
With armed men. Tlie gentlemen surrounding the 



198 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1792 

king were all conscious of their utter inability to pro- 
tect him. They had come but to share the fate of 
their sovereign. The queen and the Princess Eliza- 
beth ascended to an upper part of the palace, and 
stepped from a low window into the dark shadow of 
a balcony to look out upon the tumultuous city. The 
sound, as of the gathering of a resistless storm, 
swept through all the streets, and rose loud and 
threatening above the usual roar of the vast metrop- 
olis. The solemn tones of the alarm bells, pealing 
through the night air, summoned all the desperadoes 
of France to their several places of rendezvous, to 
march upon the palace. The rumbling of artillery 
wheels, and the frequent discharge of musketry, pro- 
claimed the determination and the desperation of the 
intoxicated mob. In darkness and silence, the queen 
and her sister stood listening to these fearful sounds, 
and their hearts throbbed violently in view of the 
terrible scene through which they knew that they 
must pass. The queen, pale but tearless, and nerved 
to the utmost by queenly pride, descended to the 
rooms below. She walked into the chamber where 
her beautiful son was sleeping, gazed earnestly upon 
him for a moment, bent over him, and imprinted 
upon his cheek a mother's kiss — and yet without a 
tear. She entered the apartment of her daughter— 
lovely, surpassingly lovely in all the blooming beauty 
of fifteen. The princess, comprehending the peril of 



1792] IMPRISONMENT 199 

the hour, could not sleep. Maria pressed her child to 
her throbbing heart, and the pride of the queen was 
soon vanquished by the tenderness of the mother, as 
with convulsive energy she embraced her, and wept 
in anguish almost unendurable. Shouts of unfeeling 
derision arose from the troops below, stationed for 
the protection of the royal family, and their ears were 
assailed by remarks of the most brutal barbarity. 
Hour after hour of the night lingered along, the 
clamor without incessantly increasing, and the crowds 
surrounding the palace augmenting. The excitement 
within the palace was so awful that no words could 
give it utterance. The few hundred gentlemen who 
had come so heroically to share the fate of their sov- 
ereign were aware that no resistance could be made 
to the tens of thousands who were thirsting for their 
blood. 

Midnight came. It was fraught with horror. The 
queen, in utter exhaustion, threw herself upon a 
sofa. At that moment a musket shot was fired in the 
court-yard. "There is the first shot," said the queen, 
with the calmness of despair, "but it will not be the 
last. Let us go and be with the king." At length, 
from the windows of their apartment, a few gleams 
of light began to redden the eastern sky. " Come," 
said the Princess Elizabeth, "and see the rising sun." 
Maria went mournfully to the window, gazed long 
and steadfastly upon the rising luminary, feeling that, 



200 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1792 

before that day's sun should go down, she and all 
whom she loved would be in another world. It was 
an awful spectacle which the light of day revealed. 
All the avenues to the palace were choked with in- 
toxicated thousands. The gardens, and the court- 
yard surrounding the palace, were filled with troops, 
placed there for the protection of the sovereign, but 
evidently sympathizing with the mob, with whom 
they exchanged badges and friendly greetings. The 
queen, apprehensive that the children might be mas- 
sacred in their beds, had them dressed, and placed by 
the side of herself and the king. It was recommended 
to the king that he should go down into the court- 
yard, among the troops stationed there for his de- 
fense; that his presence might possibly awaken 
sympathy and enthusiasm in his behalf. The king 
and queen, with their son and daughter, and Madame 
Elizabeth, went down with throbbing hearts to visit 
the ranks of their defenders. They were received 
with derisive insults and hootings. Some of the gun- 
ners left their posts, and thrust their fists into the 
face of the king, insulting him with menaces the 
most brutal. They instantly returned to the palace, 
pallid with indignation and despair. 

Soon an officer came in and informed the king 
that all resistance was hopeless; that six pieces of 
artillery were already pointed against the main door 
of the palace; that a mob of countless thousands, well 



1792] IMPRISONMENT 201 

armed, and dragging with them twelve heavy cannon, 
were rapidly approaching the scene of conflict; that 
the whole populace of Paris were up in arms against 
the king, and that no reliance whatever could be 
placed in the soldiers stationed for his defense. 
"There is not," said he, "a single moment to lose. 
You will all inevitably and immediately perish, unless 
you hasten to the hall where the Assembly is in ses- 
sion, and place yourself under the protection of that 
body." The pride of the queen was intensely aroused 
in view of appealing to the Assembly, their bitterest 
enemy, for succor, and she indignantly replied, "I 
would rather be nailed to the walls of the palace than 
leave it to take refuge in the Assembly." And the 
heroism of Maria Theresa instinctively inspiring her 
bosom, she seized, from the belt of an officer, two 
pistols, and, presenting them to the king, exclaimed, 
"Now, sire, is the time to show yourself, and if we 
must perish, let us perish with glory." The king 
calmly received the pistols, and silently handed them 
back to the officer. 

"Madame," said the messenger, "are you pre- 
pared to take upon yourself the responsibility of the 
death of the king, of yourself, of your children, and 
of all who are here to defend you ? All Paris is on 
the march. Time presses. In a few moments it will 
be too late." The queen cast a glance upon her 
daughter, and a mother's fears prevailed. The crim- 



202 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1792 

son blood mounted to her temples. Then, again, she 
was pale as a corpse. Then, rising from her seat, 
she said, "Let us go." It was seven o'clock in the 
morning. 

The king and queen, with their two children, 
Madame Elizabeth, and a few personal friends, de- 
scended the great stair-case of the Tuileries, to pass 
out through the bands of soldiers and the tumultuous 
mob to the hall of the Assembly. At the stair-case 
there was a large concourse of men and women, ges- 
ticulating with fury, who refused to permit the royal 
family to depart. The tumult was such that the 
members of the royal family were separated from 
each other, and thus they stood for a moment min- 
gled with the crowd, listening to language of menace 
and insult, when a deputy assured the mob that an 
order of the Assembly had summoned the royal fam- 
ily to them. The rioters then gave way, and the 
mournful group passed out of the door into the gar- 
den. They forced their way along, surrounded by a 
few friends, through imprecations, insults, gleaming 
daggers, and dangers innumerable, until they arrived 
at the hall of the Assembly, which the king was 
with difficulty enabled to enter, in consequence of the 
immense concourse which crowded him, thirsting for 
his blood, and yet held back by an unseen hand. 
As the king entered the hall, he said, with dignity, 
to the president, "1 have come here to save the na- 



1792] IMPRISONMENT 203 

tion from the commission of a great crime. I shall 
always consider myself, with my family, safe in your 
hands." The royal family sat down upon a bench. 
Mournful silence pervaded the hall. A more sorrow- 
ful, heart-rending sight mortal eyes have seldom seen. 
The father, the mother, the saint-like sister, the in- 
nocent and helpless children, had found but a mo- 
mentary refuge from cannibals, who were roaring like 
wolves around the hall, and battering at the doors to 
break in and slake their vengeance with blood. It 
was seriously apprehended that the mob would make 
a rush, and sprinkle the blood of the royal family 
upon the very tloor of the sanctuary where they had 
sought a refuge. 

Behind the seat of the president there was a box 
about ten feet square, constituting a seat reserved for 
reporters, guarded by an iron railing. Into this box the 
royal family were crowded for safety. A few friends 
of the king gathered around the box. The heat of the 
day was almost insupportable. Not a breath of air 
could penetrate the closely-packed apartment; and 
the heat, as of a furnace, glowed in the room. 
Scarcely had the royal f^imily got into this frail re- 
treat, when the noise without informed them that 
their friends were falling before the daggers of assassins, 
and the greatest alarm was felt lest the doors should 
be driven in by the merciless mob. In this awful 
hour, the king appeared as calm, serene, and uncon- 



ao4 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1792 

cerned as if he were the spectator of a scene in which 
he had no interest. The countenance of the queen 
exhibited all the unvanquished firmness of her soul, as 
with flushed cheek and indignant eye she looked upon 
the drama of terror and confusion which was passi,ng. 
The young princess wept, and her cheeks were 
marked with the furrows which her tears, dried by 
the heat, had left. The young dauphin appeared as 
cool and self-possessed as his father. The rattling 
fire of artillery, and the report of musketry at the 
palace, proclaimed to the royal family and the affrighted 
deputies the horrid conflict, or, rather, massacre which 
was raging there. Immediately after the king and 
queen had left the Tuileries, the mob broke in at 
every avenue. A few hundred Swiss soldiers left 
there remained faithful to the king. The conflict was 
short — the massacre awful. The infuriated multitude 
rushed through the halls and the apartments of the 
spacious palace, murdering, without mercy and with- 
out distinction of age or sex, all the friends of the 
king whom they encountered. The mutilated bodies 
were thrown out of the windows to the mob which 
filled the garden and the court. The wretched in- 
mates of the palace fled, pursued in every direction. 
But concealment and escape were alike hopeless. 
Some poor creatures leaped from the windows and 
clambered up the marble monuments. The wretches 
refrained from firing at them, lest they should injure 



1792] IMPRISONMENT 205 

the statuary, but pricked them with their bayonets 
till they compelled them to drop down, and then 
murdered them at their feet. A pack of wolves could 
not have been more merciless. The populace, now 
rioting in their resistless power, with no law and 
no authority to restrain them, gave loose rein to ven- 
geance, and, having glutted themselves with blood, 
proceeded to sack the palace. Its magnificent furni- 
ture, and splendid mirrors, and costly paintings were 
dashed to pieces and thrown from the windows, 
when the fragments were eagerly caught by those 
below and piled up for bonfires. Drunken wretches 
staggered through all the most private apartments, 
threw themselves, with blood-soaked boots, upon the 
bed of the queen, ransacked her drawers, made them- 
selves merry over her notes, and letters, and the 
various articles of her toilet, and polluted the very 
air of the palace by their vulgar and obscene ribaldry. 
As night approached, huge fires were built, upon 
which the dead bodies of the massacred Royalists 
were thrown, and all were consumed. 

During all the long hours of that dreadful day, 
and until two o'clock the ensuing night, the royal 
family remained, almost without a change of posture, 
in the narrow seat which had served them for an 
asylum. Who can measure the amount of their en- 
durance during these fifteen hours of woe ? An act 
was passed, during this time, in obedience to the 



2o6 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1792 

demands of the mob, dethroning the king. The hour 
of midnight had now come and gone, and still the 
royal sufferers were in their comfortless imprison- 
ment, half dead with excitement and exhaustion. 
The young dauphin had fallen asleep in his mother's 
arms. Madame Elizabeth and the princess, entirely 
unnerved, were sobbing with uncontrollable grief. 
The royal family were then transferred, for the re- 
mainder of the night, to some deserted and unfurnished 
rooms in the old monastery of the Feuillants. Some 
beds and mattresses were hastily collected, and a few 
coarse chairs for their accommodation. As soon as 
they had entered these cheerless rooms, and were alone, 
the king prostrated himself upon his knees, with his 
family clinging around him, and gave utterance to 
the prayer, "Thy trials, O God! are dreadful. Give 
us courage to bear them. We adore the hand which 
chastens, . as that which has so often blessed us. 
Have mercy on those who have died fighting in our 
defense." 

Utter exhaustion enabled the unhappy family to 
find a few hours of agitated sleep. The sun arose 
the ensuing morning with burning rays, and, as they 
fell upon the eyelids of the queen, she looked wildly 
around her for a moment upon the cheerless scene, 
and then, with a shudder, exclaiming, "Oh! I hoped 
it was all a dream," buried her face again in her pil- 
low. The attendants around her burst into tears. 



1792] IMPRISONMENT 207 

"You see, my unhappy friends," said Maria, "a. 
woman even more unhappy than yourselves, for she 
has caused all your misfortunes." The queen wept 
bitterly as she was informed of the massacre of her 
friends the preceding day. Already the royal family 
felt the pressure of poverty. They were penniless, 
and had to borrow some garments for the children. 
The king and queen could make no change in their 
disordered dress. 

At ten o'clock in the morning, a guard came and 
conducted the royal family again to the Assembly. 
Immediately the hall was surrounded by a riotous 
mob, clamoring for their blood. At one moment the 
outer doors were burst open, and the blood-thirsty 
wretches made a rush for the interior. The king, be- 
lieving that their final hour had come, begged his 
friends to seek their own safety, and abandon him 
and his family to their fate. The day of agitation and 
terror, however, passed away, and, as the gloom of 
night again darkened the city, the illustrious sufferers 
were reconveyed to the Feuillants. All their friends 
were driven from them, and guards were placed over 
them, who, by rudeness and insults, did what they 
could to add bitterness to their captivity. 

It was decided by the Assembly that they should 
all be removed to the prison of the Temple. At three 
o'clock the next day two carriages were brought to 
the door, and the royal family were conveyed through 



%o% MARIA ANTOINETTE [1792 

the thronged streets and by the most popular thorough- 
fares to the prison. The enemies of royalty appeared 
to court the ostentatious display of its degradation. 
As the carriages were slowly dragged along, an im- 
mense concourse of spectators lined the way, and in- 
sults and derision were heaped upon them at every 
step. At last, after two hours, in which they were 
constrained to drain the cup of ignominy to its dregs, 
the carriages rolled under the gloomy arches of the 
Temple, and their prison doors were closed against 
them. 

In the mean time the allied army was advancing 
with rapid strides toward the city. The most dread- 
ful consternation reigned in the metropoHs. The pop- 
ulace rose in its rage to massacre all suspected of 
being in favor of royalty. The prisons were crowded 
with the victims of suspicion. The rage of the mob 
would not wait for trial. The prison doors were 
burst open, and a general and awful massacre ensued. 
There was no mercy shown to the innocence of 
youth or to female helplessness. The streets of Paris 
were red with the blood of its purest citizens, and 
the spirit of murder, with unrestrained license, glutted 
its vengeance. In one awful day and night many 
thousands perished. The walls of rock and iron of 
the Temple alone protected the royal family from a 
similar fate. 

The Temple was a dismal fortress which stood in 



1792] IMPRISONMENT 209 

the heart of Paris, a gloomy memorial of past ages of 
violence and crime. It was situated not far from the 
Bastille, and inclosed within its dilapidated yet mass- 
ive walls a vast space of silence and desolation, in 
former ages cowled monks had moved with noiseless 
tread through its spacious corridors, and their matins 
and vespers had vibrated along the stone arches of 
this melancholy pile. But now weeds choked its 
court-yard, and no sounds were heard in its deserted 
apartments but the shrieking of the wind as it rushed 
through the grated windows and whistled around the 
angles of the towers. The shades of night were add- 
ing to the gloom of this wretched abode as the 
captives were led into its deserted and unfurnished 
cells. It was after midnight before the rooms for 
their imprisonment were assigned to them. It was a 
night of Egyptian darkness. Soldiers with drawn 
swords guarded them, as, by the light of a lantern, 
they picked their way through the rank weeds of the 
castle garden, and over piles of rubbish, to a stone 
tower, some thirty feet square and sixty feet high, to 
whose damp, cheerless, and dismal apartments they 
were consigned. "Where are you conducting us?" 
inquired a faithful servant who had followed the for- 
tunes of his royal master. The officer replied, "Thy 
master has been used to gilded roofs, but now he 
will see how the assassins of the people are lodged." 
Madame Elizabeth was placed in a kind of kitchen, 

M. of H.— I— 14 



2IO MARIA ANTOINETTE [1792 

or wash-room, with a truckle bed in it, on the ground 
floor. The second floor of the Tower was assigned 
to the attendants of the household. One common 
wooden bedstead and a few old chairs were the only 
furniture of the room. The third floor was assigned 
to the king, and queen, and the two children. A 
footman had formerly slept in the room, and had left 
suspended upon the walls some coarse and vulgar 
prints. The king, immediately glancing at them, took 
them down and turned their faces to the wall, ex-- 
claiming, "I would not have my daughter see such 
things." The king and the children soon fell soundly 
asleep; but no repose came to the agitated mind of 
Maria Antoinette. Her lofty and unbending spirit felt 
these indignities and atrocities too keenly. She spent 
the night in silent tears, and indulging in the most 
gloomy forebodings of the fate which yet awaited 
them. 

The morning sun arose, but to show still more 
clearly the dismal aspect of the prison. But few rays 
could penetrate the narrow windows of the tower, 
and blinds of oaken plank were so constructed that 
the inmates could only look out upon the sky. A 
very humble breakfast was provided for them, and 
then they began to look about to see what resources 
their prison afforded to beguile the weary hours. A 
few books were found, such as an odd volume of 
Horace, and a few volumes of devotional treatises, 



1792] IMPRISONMENT 211' 

which had long been slumbering, moth-eaten, in these 
deserted cells, where, in ages that were past, monks 
had performed their severe devotions. The king im- 
mediately systematized the hours, and sat down to 
the regular employment of teaching his children. The 
son and the daughter, with minds prematurely de- 
veloped by the agitations and excitements in the 
midst of which they had been cradled, clung to their 
parents with the most tender affection, and mitigated 
the horrors of their captivity by manifesting the most 
engaging sweetness of disposition, and by prosecuting 
their studies with untiring vigor. The queen and 
Madame Elizabeth employed themselves with their 
needles. They breakfasted at nine o'clock, and then 
devoted the forenoon to reading and study. At one 
o'clock they were permitted to walk for an hour, for 
exercise, in the court-yard of the prison, which had 
long been consigned to the dominion of rubbish and 
weeds. But in these walks they were daily exposed 
to the most cruel insults from the guards that were 
stationed over them. At two o'clock they dined. 
During the long hours of the evening the king read 
aloud. At night, the queen prepared the children for 
bed, and heard them repeat their prayers. Every day, 
however, more severe restrictions were imposed upon 
the captives. They were soon deprived of pens and 
paper; and then scissors, knives, and even needles 
were taken away, under the pretense that they might 



212 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1792 

be the instruments of suicide. They were allowed 
no communication of any kind with their friends 
without, and were debarred from all acquaintance 
with any thing transpiring in the world. In that 
gloomy tower of stone and iron they were buried. 
A faithful servant, however, adroitly opened commu- 
nication with a news boy, who, under the pretense of 
selling the daily papers, recounted under their prison 
windows, in as loud a voice as he could, the leading 
articles of the journals he had for sale. The servant 
listened at the window with the utmost care, and 
then privately communicated the information to the 
king and queen. 

The fate of the Princess Lamballe, who perished 
at this time, is highly illustrative of the horrors in the 
midst of which all the Royalists lived. This lovely 
woman, left a widow at eighteen, was attracted to 
the queen by her misfortunes, and became her most 
intimate and devoted friend. She lodged in an apart- 
ment adjoining to the queen's, that she might share 
all her perils. Occasionally the princess was absent 
to watch over and cheer an aged friend, the Duke de 
Penthievre, her father-in-law, who resided at the 
Chdteau de Vernon. She had gone a short time be- 
fore the 20th of June to visit the aged duke, and 
Maria Antoinette, who foresaw the terrible storm 
about to burst upon them, wrote the following touch- 
ing letter to her friend, urging her not to return to 



1792] IMPRISONMENT 213 

the sufferings and dangers of the Tuileries. The let- 
ter was found in the hair of the Princess de Lamballe 
after her assassination. 

"Do not leave Vernon, my dear Lamballe, before 
you are perfectly recovered. The good Duke de 
Penthievre would be sorry and distressed, and 
we must all take care of his advanced age and re- 
spect his virtues. I have so often told you to take 
heed of yourself, that, if you love me, you must think 
of yourself; we shall require all of our strength in 
the times in which we live. Oh! do not return, or 
return as late as possible. Your heart would be too 
deeply wounded; you would have too many tears to 
shed over my misfortunes — you, who loved me so ten- 
derly. This race of tigers which infests the kingdom 
would cruelly enjoy itself if it knew all the sufferings 
we undergo. Adieu, my dear Lamballe; I am always 
thinking of you, and you know I never change." 

The, princess, notwithstanding this advice, hastened 
to join her friend and to share her fate. She stood 
by the side of the queen during the sleeplessness of 
the night preceding the 20th of June, and clung to 
her during all those long and terrific hours in which 
the mob filled her apartment with language of obscen- 
ity, menace, and rage. She accompanied the royal 
family to the Assembly, shared with them the cheer- 
less night in the old monastery of the Feuillants, and 



214 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1792 

followed them to the gloomy prison of the Temple. 
The stern decree of the Assembly, depriving the 
royal family of the presence of any of their friends, 
excluded the princess from the prison. She still, 
however, lived but to weep over the sorrows of those 
whom she so tenderly loved. 

She was soon arrested as a Loyalist, and plunged, 
like the vilest criminal, into the prison of La Force, 
For the crime of loving the king and queen she was 
summoned to appear before the Revolutionary tri- 
bunal. The officers found her lying upon her pallet in 
the prison, surrounded by other wretched victims of 
lawless violence, scarcely able to raise her head from 
her pillow. She entreated them to leave her to die 
where she was. One of the officers leaned over her 
bed, and whispered to her that they were her friends, 
and that her life depended upon her entire compliance 
with their directions. She immediately arose and ac- 
companied the guard down the prison stairs to the 
door. There two brutal-looking wretches, covered 
with blood, stood waiting to receive her. As they 
grasped her arms, she fainted. It was long before 
she recovered. As soon as she revived she was led 
before the judges. "Swear," said one of them, "that 
you love liberty and equality; and swear that you 
hate all kings and queens." "1 am willing to swear 
the first," she replied, "but as to hatred of kings and 
queens, I can not swear it, for it is not in my heart." 



1792^ IMPRISONMENT 215 ^ 

Another judge, moved with pity by her youth and 
innocence, bent over her and whispered, "Swear 
anything, or you are lost." She still remained silent. 
"Well," said one, "you may go, but when you get 
into the street, shout Vive la nation ! ' ' The court- 
yard was filled with assassins, who cut down, with 
pikes and bludgeons, the condemned as they were led 
out from the court, and the mutilated and gory bodies 
of the slain were strewn over the pavement. Two 
soldiers took her by the arm to lead her out. As 
she passed from the door, the dreadful sight froze 
her heart with terror, and she exclaimed, forgetful of 
the peril, "O God! how horrible!" One of the sol- 
diers, by a friendly impulse, immediately covered her 
mouth with his hand, that her exclamations might 
not be heard. She was led into the street, filled with 
assassins thirsting for the blood of the Royalists, and 
had advanced but a few steps, when a journeyman 
barber, staggering with intoxication and infuriated 
with carnage, endeavored, in a kind of brutal jesting, 
to strike her cap from her head with his long pike. 
The blow fell upon her forehead, cutting a deep gash, 
and the blood gushed out over her face. The assas- 
sins around, deeming this the signal for their onset, 
fell upon her. A blow from a bludgeon laid her 
dead upon the pavement. One, seizing her by the 
hair, with a saber cut off her head. Others tore her 
garments from her graceful limbs, and, cutting her 



2i6 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1792 

body into fragments, paraded the mutilated remains 
upon their pikes through the streets. The dissevered 
head they bore into an ale-house, and drank and 
danced around the ghastly trophy in horrid carousal. 
The rioting multitude then, in the frensy of intoxi- 
cation, swarmed through the streets to the Temple, to 
torture the king and queen with the dreadful spectacle. 
The king, hearing the shoutings and tumultuous 
laughter of the mob, went to the window, and recog- 
nized, in the gory head thrust up to him upon the point 
of a pike, the features of his much-loved friend. He 
immediately led the queen to another part of the 
room, that she might be shielded from the dreadful 
spectacle. 

Such were the flashes of terror which were ever 
gleaming through the bars of their windows. The 
horrors of each passing moment were magnified by 
the apprehension of still more dreadful evils to come. 
There was, however, one consolation yet left them. 
They were permitted to cling together. Locked in 
each other's arms, they could bow in prayer, and by 
sympathy and love sustain their fainting hearts. It 
was soon, however, thought that these indulgences 
were too great for dethroned royalty to enjoy. But 
a few days of their captivity had passed away, when, 
at midnight, they were aroused by an unusual uproar, 
and a band of brutal soldiers came clattering into 
their room with lanterns, and, in the most harsh and 



1792] IMPRISONMENT 217 

insulting manner, commanded the immediate expul- 
sion of all the servants and attendants of the royal 
family. Expostulation and entreaty were alike un- 
availing. The captives were stripped of all their 
friends, and passed the remainder of the night in sleep- 
lessness and in despair. With the light of the morn- 
ing they endeavored to nerve themselves to bear with 
patience this new trial. The king performed the part 
of a nurse in aiding to wash and dress the children. 
For the health of the children, they went into the 
court-yard of the prison before dinner for exercise and 
the fresh air. A soldier, stationed there to guard 
them, came up deliberately to the queen, and amused 
his companions by puffing tobacco smoke from his 
pipe into her face. The parents read upon the walls 
the names of their children, described as "whelps 
who ought to be strangled." 

Six weeks of this almost unendurable agony passed 
away, when, one night, as the unhappy captives 
were clustered together, finding in their mutual and 
increasing affection a solace for all their woes, six 
municipal officers entered the tower, and read a de- 
cree ordering the entire separation of the king from 
the rest of his family. No language can express the 
consternation of the sufferers in view of this cruel meas- 
ure. Without mercy, the officers immediately exe- 
cuted the barbarous command, by tearing the king 
from the embraces of his agonized wife and his grief- 



2i8 ' MARIA ANTOINETTE [1792 

distracted children. The king, overwhelmed with an- 
guish in view of the sufferings which his wife and 
children must endure, most earnestly implored them 
not to separate him from his family. They were in-, 
flexible, and, hardly allowing the royal family one 
moment for their parting adieus, hurried the king 
away. It was the dark hour of a gloomy night. The 
few rays of light from the lanterns guided them 
through narrow passages, and over piles of rub- 
bish to a distant angle of the huge and dilapidated 
fortress, where they thrust the king into an unfur- 
nished cell, and, locking the door upon him, they left 
him with one tallow candle to make visible the gloom 
and the solitude. There was, in one corner, a miser- 
able pallet, and heaps of moldering bricks and mortar 
were scattered over the damp floor. The king threw 
himself, in utter despair, upon this wretched bed, and 
counted, till the morning dawned, the steps of the 
sentinel pacing to and fro before his door. At length 
a small piece of bread and a bottle of water were 
brought him for his breakfast. 

The anguish of the queen in the endurance of this 
most cruel separation was apparently as deep as human 
nature could experience. Her woe amounted to de- 
lirium. Pale and haggard, she walked to and fro, be- 
seeching her jailers that they would restore to her 
and to her children the husband and the father. Her 
pathetic entreaties touched even their hearts of stone. 



1792] IMPRISONMENT 219 

"I do believe," said one of them, "that these infer- 
nal women will make even me weep." After some 
time, they consented that the king should occasionally 
be permitted to partake his meals with his family, a 
guard being always present to hear what they should 
say. Immediately after the meal, he was to be taken 
back to his solitary imprisonment. 

Such was the condition of the royal family during 
a period of about four months, varied by the capri- 
cious mercy or cruelty of the different persons who 
were placed as guards over them. Their clothes be- 
came soiled, threadbare and tattered; and they were 
deprived of all means of repairing their garments, lest 
they should convert needles and scissors into instru- 
ments of suicide. The king was not allowed the use 
of a razor to remove his beard; and the luxury of a 
barber to perform that essential part of his toilet was 
an expense which his foes could not incur. It was 
the studied endeavor of those who now rode upon the 
crested yet perilous billows of power, to degrade 
royalty to the lowest depths of debasement and con- 
tempt, that the beheading of the king and the queen 
might be regarded as merely the execution of a male 
and a female felon dragged from the loathsome dun- 
geons of crime. 



CHAPTER X. 

Execution of the King. 

Ominous preparations. — The king summoned before the Convention. — The 
king before the Convention. — Charges brought against him. — The king 
begs for a morsel of bread. — He is taken back to prison. — Advance of 
the allies. — Clamor for the king's life. — The king condemned to death. 
— Emotion of Malesherbes. — The king's demands. — The Abb6 Edge- 
worth. — The last interview. — Anguish of the royal family. — The last 
embrace. — The separation. — The king receives the sacrament. — Me- 
mentoes to his family. — The king summoned to execution. — Brutality of 
the officers. — The brutal jailer. — The king conducted to execution. — 
A sad procession. — The admirable calmness of the king. — Attempt 
to rescue the king. — Its failure. — The guillotine. — Associations. — The 
king's thoughtfulness. — He undresses himself . — The king ascends the 
scaffold. — His speech. — The last act in the tragedy. — Burial of the king's 
body. — The blood-red obelisk. — Character of I<ouis, 

ON THE nth of December, 1792, just four 
months after the royal family had been con- 
signed to the Temple, as the captives were 
taking their breakfast, a great noise of the rolling of 
drums, the neighing of horses, and the tramp of a 
numerous multitude was heard around the prison 
walls; soon some one entered, and informed the king 
that these were the preparations which were making 
to escort him to his trial. The king knew perfectly 
well that this was the step which preceded his exe- 
cution, and, as he thought of the awful situation of 
(220) 



1792] EXECUTION OF THE KING 221 

his family, he threw himself into his chair and buried 
his face in his hands, and for two hours remained in 
that attitude immovable. He was roused from his 
painful revery by the entrance of the officers to con- 
duct him to the bar of his judges, from whom he was 
aware he could expect no mercy. "I follow you," 
said the king, "not in obedience to the orders of the 
Convention, but because my enemies are the more 
powerful." He put on his brown great-coat and hat, 
and silently descending the stairs to the door of the 
tower, entered a carriage which was there awaiting 
him. As he had long been deprived of his razors, 
his chin and cheeks were covered with masses of 
hair. His garments hung loosely around his emaciated 
frame, and all dignity of aspect was lost in the de- 
graded condition to which designing cruelty had re- 
duced him. The captive monarch was escorted through 
the streets by regiments of cavalry, infantry, and artil- 
lery, every man furnished with fifteen rounds of 
ammunition to repel any attempts at a rescue. A 
countless throng of people lined the streets through 
which the illustrious prisoner was conveyed. The 
multitude gazed upon the melancholy procession in 
profound silence. He soon stood before the bar of 
the Convention. "Louis," said the president, "the 
French nation accuses you. You are about to hear 
the charges which are to be preferred. Louis be 
seated." The king listened with perfect tranquillity 



222 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1792 

and self-possession to a long catalogue of accusations, 
in which his efforts to sustain the fallen monarchy, 
and his exertions to protect himself and family from 
insults and death, were construed into crimes against 
the nation. 

The examination of the king was long, minute, 
and was conducted by those who were impatient for 
his blood. At its close, the king, perfectly exhausted 
by mental excitement and the want of refreshment, 
was led back into the waiting-room of the Conven- 
tion. He was scarcely able to stand for faintness. 
He saw a soldier eating a piece of bread. He ap- 
proached, and, in a whisper, begged him for a piece, 
and ate it. Here was the monarch of thirty millions 
of people, in the heart of his proud capital, and with 
all his palaces around him, actually begging bread of 
a poor soldier. The king was again placed in the 
carriage, and conveyed back to his prison in the 
Temple. As the cortege passed slowly by the palace 
of the Tuileries, the scene of all his former grandeur 
and happiness, the king gazed long and sadly on the 
majestic pile, so lost in thought that he heeded not, 
and apparently heard not the insulting cries which 
were resounding around him. As the king entered 
the Temple, he raised his eyes most wistfully to the 
queen's apartment, but the windows were so barred 
that no glances could be interchanged. The king 
was conducted to his apartment, and was informed 



1793] EXECUTION OF THE KING 223 

that he could no longer be permitted to hold any 
communication whatever with the other members of 
his family. He contrived, however, by means of a 
tangle of thread, in which was inclosed a piece of 
paper perforated by a needle, to get a note to the 
queen, and to receive a few words in return. He, 
however, felt that his doom was sealed, and began 
from that hour to look forward to his immortality. 
He made his will, in which he spoke in most affect- 
ing terms of his wife, and his children, and his ene- 
mies, commending them all to the protection of God. 
An indescribable gloom now reigned throughout 
Paris. The allied armies on the frontiers were gradu- 
ally advancing. The French troops were defeated. 
It was feared that the Royalists would rise, and join 
the invaders, and rescue the king. Desperadoes rioted 
through the streets, clamoring for the blood of their 
monarch. With knives and bludgeons they surrounded 
the Convention, threatening the lives of all if they did 
not consign the king to the guillotine. The day for 
the fmal decision came — Shall the king live or die? 
On that day the heart of the metropolis throbbed as 
never before. It was the 20th of January, 1793. The 
Convention had already been in uninterrupted session 
for fifteen hours. The clamor of the tumultuous and 
threatening mob gave portentous warning of the doom 
which awaited the members of the Assembly should 
they dare to spare the life of the king. One by one 



224 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1793 

the deputies mounted the tribune as their names were 
called in alphabetical order, and gave their vote. For 
some time death and exile seemed equally balanced. 
The results of the vote were read. The Convention 
comprised seven hundred and twenty-one voters, three 
hundred and thirty-four of whom voted for exile, and 
three hundred and eighty-seven for death. 

Louis sat alone in his prison, calmly awaiting the 
decision. He lay down that night knowing that his 
doom was sealed, and yet not knowing what that 
doom was. Malesherbes, the venerable friend who 
had volunteered for his defense, came to communi- 
cate the mournful tidings. He fell at the king's feet 
so overcome with emotion that he could not speak. 
The king understood the language of his silence and 
his tears, and uttered himself the sentence, "Death." 
But a few moments elapsed before the officers of the 
Convention came, in all the pomp and parade of the 
land, to communicate to the king his doom to the 
guillotine in twenty-four hours. With perfect calm- 
ness, and fixing his eye immovably upon his judges 
he heard the reading of the sentence. The reading 
concluded, the king presented a paper to the depu- 
ties, which he first read to them in the clear and 
commanding tones of a monarch upon his throne, 
demanding a respite of three days, in order to pre- 
pare to appear before God; also permission to see his 
family, and to converse with a priest. The Conven- 



1793] EXECUTION OF THE KING 225 

tion, angry at these requests, informed the king that 
he might see any priest he pleased, and that he 
might see his family, but that the execution must 
take place in twenty-four hours from the time of the 
sentence. Darkness had again fallen upon the city, 
when the minister of religion, M. Edgeworth, was 
led through the gloomy streets, to administer the 
consolations of piety to the condemned monarch. As 
he entered the apartment of the king, he fell at his 
feet and burst into tears. Louis for a moment wept, 
When, recovering himself, he said, "Pardon me this 
momentary weakness. 1 have so long lived among 
enemies, that habit has rendered me insensible to 
hatred. The sight of a faithful friend restores my 
sensibility, and moves me to tears in spite of myself." 
A long conversation ensued, in which the king in- 
quired, with the greatest interest, respecting the fate 
of his numerous friends. He read his will with the 
utmost deliberation, his voice faltering only when he 
alluded to his wife, children and sister. At seven 
o'clock he was to have his last agonizing interview 
with his beloved family, and the thought of this agi- 
tated him far more than the prospect of the scaffold. 
The hour for the last sad meeting arrived. The 
king, having prepared his heart by prayer for the 
occasion, descended into a small unfurnished room, 
where he was to meet his family. The door opened. 
The queen, leading his son, and Madame Elizabeth, 

M. of H.— I— 15 



226 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1793 

leading his daughter, with trembling, fainting steps, 
entered the room. Not a word was uttered. The 
king threw himself upon a bench, drew the queen to 
his right side, his sister to the left, and their arms 
encircled his neck, and their heads hung upon his 
breast. The son climbed upon his father's knee, 
clinging with his arms franticly to his bosom; and 
the daughter, throwing herself at his feet, buried her 
head in his lap, her beautiful hair, in disordered ring- 
lets, falling over her shoulders. A long half hour thus 
passed, in which not one single articulate word was 
spoken, but the anguish of these united hearts was 
expressed in cries and lamentations which pierced 
through the stone walls of their prison, and were 
heard by passers by in the streets. But human nature 
could not long endure this intensity of agony. Total 
exhaustion ensued. Their tears dried upon their 
cheeks; embraces, kisses, whispers of tenderness and 
love, and woe ensued, which lasted for two hours. 

The king then clasped them each in a long em- 
brace, pressing his Mps to their cheeks, and prepared 
to retire. Clinging to each other in an inseparable 
group, they approached the stair-case which the king 
was to ascend, when their piercing, heart-rending 
cries were renewed. The king, summoning all his 
fortitude to his aid, tore himself from them, and, in 
most tender accents, cried "Adieu! adieu!" hastily 
ascended the stairs and disappeared, having partially 



1793] EXECUTION OF THE KING 227 

promised that he would see them again in the morn- 
ing. The princess royal fell fainting upon the floor, 
and was borne insensible to her room. The king, 
reaching his apartment, threw himself into a chair, 
and exclaimed, "What an interview 1 have had! 
Why do I love so fondly? Alas! why am I so fondly 
loved ? But we have now done with time, let us oc- 
cupy ourselves with eternity." 

The hour of midnight had now arrived. The king 
threw himself upon his bed, and slept as calmly, as 
peacefully, as though he had never known a sorrow. 
At five o'clock he was awakened, and received the 
sacrament of the Lord's Supper. Then, taking a small 
parcel from his bosom, and removing his wedding 
ring from his finger, he said to an attendant, "After 
my death, I wish you to give this seal to my son, 
this ring to the queen. Say to the queen, my dear 
children, and my sister, that I had promised to see 
them this morning, but that I desire to spare them 
the agony of this bitter separation twice over. How 
much it has cost me to part without receiving their 
last embraces!" Here his utterance was impeded by 
sobs. He then called for some scissors, that he might 
cut off locks of hair for his family. As he soon after 
stood by the stove, warming himself, he exclaimed, 
"How happy am I that I maintained my Christian 
faith while on the throne! What would have been 
my condition now, were it not for this hope!" Soon 



128 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1793 

faint gleams of the light of day began to penetrate 
through the iron bars and planks which guarded his 
windows. It was the signal for the beating of drums, 
the tramp of armed men, the rolling of heavy car- 
riages of artillery, and the clattering of horses' hoofs. 
As the escort were arriving at their stations in the 
court-yard of the Temple, a great noise was heard 
upon the stair-case. "They have come for me," said 
the king; and, rising with perfect calmness and with- 
out a tremor, he opened the door. It was a false 
summons. Again and again, under various pretexts, 
the door was opened, until nine o'clock, when a 
tumultuous noise upon the stair-case announced the 
approach of a body of armed men. Twelve muhici-' 
pal officers and twelve soldiers entered the apartment. 
The soldiers formed in two lines. The king with a 
serehe ai^ placed himself between the double lines, 
attd, looking to one of the municipal officers, said, 
presenting to him a roll of paper, which was his last 
Will and testament, "I beg of you to transmit this paper 
to the qUeen." The municipal brutally rephed, "That 
is no affair of mine. I am hete to conduct you to 
the scaffold." "True," the king replied, and gave 
the paper to another, who received it. The king 
then, taking his hat and declining his coat, notwith- 
standing the severity of the cold, saidj with a digni- 
fied gesture and a tone of command, "Let us go." 
The king led the way, followed rather than conducted 



1793] EXECUTION OF THE KING 229 

by his escort. Descending the stairs, he met the 
turnkey, who had been disrespectful to him the night 
before, and whom the king had reproached for his 
insolence. Louis immediately approached the unfeel- 
ing jailer, and said to him, " Mathey, I was some- 
what warm with you yesterday; forgive me, for the 
sake of this hour." The imbruted monster turned 
upon his heel without any reply. 

As he crossed the court-yard of the Temple, he 
anxiously gazed upon the windows of the apartment 
where the queen, his sister, and his children were 
imprisoned. The windows were so guarded by plank 
shutters that no glances from the loved ones within 
could meet his eye. As the heart of the king dwelt 
upon the scenes of anguish which he knew must be 
passing there, it seemed for a moment that his for- 
titude would fail him. But, with a violent effort, he 
recovered his composure and passed on. At the en- 
trance of the Temple a carriage awaited the king. 
Two soldiers entered the carriage, and took seats by 
his side. The king's confessor also rode in the car- 
riage. It was the 21st of January, 1793, a gloomy 
winter's day. Dark clouds lowered in the sky. Fog 
and smoke darkened the city. The atmosphere was 
raw, and cold in the extreme. Nature seemed in 
harmony with man's deed of cruelty and crime. The 
shops were all closed, the markets were empty. No 
citizens were allowed to cross the streets on the line 



230 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1793 

of march, or even to show themselves at the win- 
dows. Sixty drums kept up a deafening clamor as 
the vast procession of cavalry, infantry, and artillery 
marched before, behind, and on each side of the car- 
riage. Cannon, loaded with grape-shot, with matches 
lighted, guarded the main street on the line of march, 
to prevent the possibility of an attempt even at res- 
cue. The noise of the drums, the clatter of the iron 
hoofs of the horses, and the rumbling of the heavy 
pieces of artillery over the pavements prevented all 
discourse, and the king, leaning back in his carriage, 
surrendered himself to such reflections as the awful 
hour would naturally suggest. The perfect calmness 
of the king excited the admiration of those who were 
near his person, and a few hearts in the multitude, 
touched with pity, gave utterance to the cry of 
"Pardon! pardon!" The sounds, however, died away 
in the throng, awakening no sympathetic response. 
As the procession moved along, no sound proceeded 
from human Hps. A feeling of awe appeared to have 
taken possession of the whole city. The sentiment 
of loyalty had, for so many centuries, pervaded the 
bosoms of the French people, that they could not 
conduct their monarch to the scaffold without the 
deepest emotions of awe. A feeling of consternation 
oppressed every heart in view of the deed now to be 
perpetrated. But it was too late to retract. Perhaps 
there was not an individual in that vast throng who 



1793] EXECUTION OF THE KING 231 

did not shudder in view of the crime of that day. 
At one spot on the line of march, seven or eight 
young men, in the spirit of desperate heroism which 
the occasion excited, hoping that the pity of the 
multitude would cause them to rally for their aid, 
broke through the line, sword in hand, and, rushing 
toward the carriage, shouted, "Help for those who 
would save the king." Three thousand young men 
had enrolled themselves in the conspiracy to respond 
to this call. But the preparations to resist such an 
attempt were too formidable to allow of any hopes 
of success. The few who heroically made the move- 
ment were instantly cut down. At the Place de la 
Revolution, one hundred thousand people were gath- 
ered in silence around the scaffold. The instrument 
of death, with its blood-red beams and posts, stood 
prominent above the multitudinous assemblage in the 
damp, murky air. 

The guillotine was erected in the center of the 
Place de la Revolution, directly in the front of the 
garden of the Tuileries. This celebrated instrument 
of death was invented in Italy by a physician named 
Guillotin, and from him received its name. A heavy 
ax, raised by machinery between two upright posts, 
by the touching of a spring fell, gliding down be- 
tween two grooves, and severed the head from the 
body with the rapidity of lightning. The palace in 
which Louis had passed the hours of his infancy. 



232 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1793 

and his childhood, and the days of his early grandeur; 
the magnificent gardens of the palace, where he had 
so often been greeted with acclamations; the spacious 
Elysian Fields, the pride of Paris, were all spread 
around, as if in mockery of the sacrifice which was 
there to be offered. This whole space was crowded 
with a countless multitude, clustered upon the house 
tops, darkening the windows, swinging upon the 
trees, to witness the tragic spectacle of the beheading 
of their king. Arrangements had been made to have 
the places immediately around the scaffold filled by 
the unrelenting foes of the monarch, that no emotions 
of pity might retard the bloody catastrophe. As the 
carriage approached the place of execution, the hum 
of the mighty multitude was hushed, and a silence as 
of death, prevaded the immense throng. 

At last the carriage stopped at the foot of the 
scaffold. The king raised his eyes, and said to his 
confessor, in a low but calm tone, "We have arrived, 
I think." By a silent gesture the confessor assented. 
The king, ever more mindful of others than of him- 
self, placed his hand upon the knee of the confessor, 
and said to the officers and executioners who were 
crowded around the coach, "Gentlemen, 1 recommend 
to your protection this gentleman. See that he be 
not insulted after my death. 1 charge you to watch 
over him." As no one made any reply, the king 
repeated the admonition in tones still more earnest. 



1793] EXECUTION OF THE KING 233 

"Yes! yes!" interrupted one, jeeringly, "make your 
mind easy about that; we will take care of him. Let 
us alone for that." Three of the executioners then 
approached the king to undress him. He waved 
them from him with an authoritative gesture, and 
himself took off his coat, his cravat, and turned down 
his shirt collar. The executioners then came with 
cords to bind him to a plank. "What do you intend 
to do?" he exclaimed, indignantly. "We intend to 
bind you," they replied, as they seized his hands. 
To be bound was an unexpected indignity, at which 
the blood of the monarich recoiled. "No! no!" he 
exclaimed, "I will never submit to that. Do your 
business, but you shall not bind me." The king re- 
sisted. The executioners called for help. A scene of 
violence was about to ensue. The king turned his 
eye to his confessor, as if for counsel. "Sire," said 
the Abbe Edgeworth, "submit unresistingly to this 
fresh outrage, as the last resemblance to the Savior 
who is about to recompense your sufferings." Louis 
raised his eyes to heaven, and said, "Assuredly there 
needed nothing less than the example of the Savior 
to induce me to submit to such an indignity." He 
then reached his hands out to the executioners, and 
said, "Do as you will; I will drink the cup to the 
dregs." Leaning upon the arm of his friend, he as- 
cended the steep and slippery steps of the guillotine; 
then walking across the platform firmly, he looked 



234 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1793 

for a moment intently upon the sharp blade of the 
ax, and turning suddenly to the populace, exclaimed, 
in a voice clear and distinct, which penetrated to the 
remotest extremities of the square, " People, I die in- 
nocent of all the crimes laid to my charge. I pardon 
the authors of my death, and pray God that the blood 
you are about to shed may never fall again upon 
France. And you, unhappy people — " Here the 
drums were ordered to beat, and the deafening clamor 
drowned his words. The king turned slowly to the 
guillotine and surrendered himself to the executioners. 
He was bound to the plank. ,^ ''The plank sank. The 
blade glided. The head fell." 

One of the executioners seized the severed head 
of the monarch by the hair, and, raising the bloody 
trophy of their triumph, showed it to the shuddering 
throng, while the blood dripped from it on the scaf- 
fold. A few desperadoes dipped their sabers and the 
points of their pikes in the blood, and, waving them 
in the air, shouted "Vive la RepubHque!" The multi- 
tude, however, responded not to the cry. Explosions 
of artillery announced to the distant parts of the city 
that the sacrifice was consummated. The remains of 
the monarch were conveyed on a covered cart to the 
cemetery of the Madeleine, and lime was thrown into 
the grave, that the body might be speedily and en- 
tirely consumed. 

Over the grave where he was buried Napoleon 



1793] EXECUTION OF THE KING 235 

subsequently began the splendid Temple of Glory, in 
commemoration of the monarch and other victims 
who fell in the Revolution. The completion of the 
edifice was frustrated by the fall of Napoleon. The 
Bourbons, however, on their restoration to the throng, 
finished the building, and it is now called the Church 
of the Madeleine, and it constitutes one of the most 
beautiful structures of Paris, The spot on which the 
monarch fell is now marked by a colossal obelisk of 
blood-red granite, which the French government, in 
1833, transported from Thebes, in Upper Egypt. 
Louis was unquestionably one of the most conscien- 
tious and upright sovereigns who ever sat upon a 
throne. He loved his people, and earnestly desired 
to do every thing in his power to promote their wel- 
fare. And it can hardly be doubted that he was 
guided through life, and sustained through the awful 
trial of his death, by the principle of sincere piety. 
The tidings of his execution sent a thrill of horror 
through Europe, and fastened such a stigma upon Re- 
publicanism as to pave the way for the re-erection of 
the throne. 




CHAPTER XI. 

Trial and Execution of Maria Antoinette. 

Sufferings of the queen. — Announcement of her husband's death. — Cruel 
decree. — Maria's defense of her boy. — The dauphin's cell. — The queen 
summoned to the Conciergerie. — Painful partings. — The Conciergerie. 

— I<oathsome apartments of the queen. — The jailer's wife. — The jailer's 
daughter. — The garter. — Dignity of the queen during her trial. — She is 
condemned to death. — The queen dressed for the guillotine. — Her hands 
bound. — Car of the condemned. — Indignities heaped upon the queen. — 
Arrival at the guillotine. — The queen's composure. — The queen's prayer. 

— Maternal love. — The last adieu. — End of the tragedy. 

WHILE the king was suffering upon the guil- 
lotine, the queen, with Madame Elizabeth 
and the children, remained in their prison, 
in the endurance of anguish as severe as could be 
laid upon human hearts. The queen was plunged into 
a continued succession of swoons, and when she 
heard the booming of the artillery, which announced 
that the fatal ax had fallen and that her husband was 
headless, her companions feared that her life was also, 
at the same moment, to be extinguished. Soon the 
rumbling of wheels, the rolling of heavy pieces of 
cannon, and the shouts of the multitude penetrating 
through the bars of her cell, proclaimed the return of 
the procession from the scene of death. The queen 



1793] TRIAL AND EXECUTION 237 

was extremely anxious to be informed of all the de- 
tails of the last moments of the king, but her foes re- 
fused her even this consolation. 

Days and nights now lingered slowly along while 
the captives Were perishing in monotonous misery. 
The severity of their imprisonment was continually 
increased by new deprivations. No communications 
from the world without were permitted to reach their 
ears. Shutters were so arranged that even the sky 
was scarcely visible, and no employment whatever 
Was allowed them to beguile their hours of woe. 
About four months after the death of the king, a loud 
noise was heard one night at the door of their cham- 
ber, and a band of armed men came tumultuously in, 
and read to the queen an Drder that her little son 
should be entirely separated from her, and imprisoned 
by himself. The poor child, as he heard this cruel 
decree, was frantic with terror, and, throwing himself 
into his mother's arms, shrieked out, "O mother! 
itiother! mother! do not abandon me to those men. 
They will kill me as they did papa." The queen was 
thrown into a perfect delirium of mental agony. She 
placed her child upon the bed, and, stationing herself 
before him, with eyes glaring like a tigress, and with 
almost superhuman energy, declared that they should 
tear her in pieces before they should touch her poor 
boy. The officers were subdued by this affecting ex^ 
hibition of maternal love, and forbore violence. For 



238 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1793 

two hours she thus contended against all their solici- 
tations, until, entirely overcome by exhaustion, she 
fell in a sv/oon upon the floor. The child was then 
hurried from the apartment, and placed under the care 
of a brutal wretch, whose name, Simon, inhumanity 
has immortalized. The unhappy child threw him- 
self upon the floor of his cell, and for two days 
remained without any nourishment. The queen aban- 
doned herself to utter despair. Madame Elizabeth and 
Maria Theresa performed all the service of the cham- 
ber, making the beds, sweeping the room, and at- 
tending upon the queen. No importunities on the 
part of Maria Antoinette could obtain for her the favor 
of a single interview with her child. 

Three more months passed slowly away, when, 
early in August, the queen was aroused from her 
sleep at midnight by armed men, with lanterns, burst- 
ing into her room. With unfeeling barbarity, they 
ordered her to accompany them to the prison of the 
Conciergerie, the most dismal prison in Paris, where 
those doomed to die awaited their execution. The 
queen Hstened, unmoved, to the order, for her heart 
had now become callous even to woe. Her daughter 
and Madame Elizabeth threw themselves at the feet of 
the officers, and most pathetically, but unavailingly, 
implored them not to deprive them of their only re- 
maining solace. The queen was compelled to rise 
and dress in the presence of the wretches who ex- 



1793] TRIAL AND EXECUTION 239 

ulted over her abasement. She clasped her daughter 
for one frantic moment convulsively to her heart, cov- 
ered her with embraces and kisses, spoke a few 
words of impassioned tenderness to her sister, and 
then, as if striving by violence to throw herself from 
the room, she inadvertently struck her forehead a 
severe blow against the low portal of the door. "Did 
you hurt you?" inquired one of the men. "Oh no!" 
was the despairing reply, "nothing now can further 
harm me." 

A few lights glimmered dimly from the street 
lamps as the queen entered the carriage, guarded by 
soldiers, and was conveyed through the somber streets 
to her last earthly abode. The prison of the Con- 
ciergerie consists of a series of subterranean dungeons 
beneath the floor of the Palais de Justice. More damp, 
dark, gloomy dens of stone and iron the imagination 
can not conceive. Down the dripping and slippery 
steps she was led, groping her way by the feeble 
light of a tallow candle, until she approached, through 
a labyrinth of corridors, an iron door. It grated upon 
its hinges, and she was thrust in, two soldiers ac- 
companying her, and the door was closed. It was 
midnight. The lantern gave just light enough to 
show her the horrors of her cell. The floor was 
covered with mud and water, while little streams 
trickled down the stone walls. A miserable pallet in 
one corner, an old pine table and one chair, were all 



240 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1793 

the comforts the kingdom of France could afford its 
queen. 

The heart of the wife of the jailer was touched 
with compassion in view of this unmitigated misery. 
She did not dare to speak words of kindness, fof 
they Would be reported by the guard. She, however, 
prepared for her some food, ventured to loan hef 
some needles and a ball of worsted, artd communi- 
cated intelligence of her daughter and son. The 
Committee of Public Safety heard of these acts of 
mercy, and the jailer and his Wife were immediately 
arrested, and plunged into those dungeons into which 
they would have allowed the spirit of humanity to 
enter. The shoes of the queen saturated with water, 
soon fell from her feet. Her stockings and her dress, 
from the humidity of the air, were in tatters. Tw6 
soldiers, with drawn swords, were stationed by her 
side night and day, with the command never, even for 
ofte moment, to turn their eyes from her. The daughter 
of the new jailer, touched with compassion, and re- 
gardless of the fate of the predecessors of her parefits, 
entered her cell every morning to dress her Whitened 
locks, which sorrow had bleached. The queen ven- 
tured one day to soHcit an additional counterpane for 
her bed. "How dare you make such a request?*' 
rephed the solicitor general of the commune; "you 
deserve to be sent to the guillotine!" The queen 
succeeded secretly, by means of a toothpick, Which she 







■■■ 




^m 





MAR/ A ^/INTOINETTE GOING TO HER TRIAL 



1793] TRIAL AND EXECUTION 241 

converted into a tapestry needle, in plaiting a garter 
from thread which she plucked from an old woollen 
coverlet. This memorial of a mother's love she con- 
trived, by stratagem, to transmit to her daughter. 
This was the richest legacy the daughter of Maria 
Theresa and the Queen of France could bequeath to 
her child. That garter is still preserved as a sacred relic 
by those who revere the memory and commiserate the 
misfortunes of Maria Antoinette. 

Two months of this all but insupportable imprison- 
ment passed away, when, early in October, she was 
brought from her dungeon below to the court-room 
above for her trial. Her accusation was that she ab- 
horred the revolution which had beheaded her hus- 
band, and plunged her and her whole family into 
woes, the remembrance of which it would seem that 
even eternity could hardly efface. The queen conde- 
scended to no defense. She appeared before her ac- 
cusers in the calm dignity of despair, and yet with a 
spirit as unbroken and queenly as when she moved 
in the gilded saloons of Versailles. The queen was 
called to hear her sentence. It was death within 
twenty-four hours. Not the tremor of a muscle 
showed the slightest agitation as the mob, with clap- 
pings and shoutings, manifested their hatred for their 
victim, and their exultation at her doom. Insults and 
execrations followed her to the stair-case as she de- 
scended again to her dungeon. It was four o'clock 

M.ofH.— I— 16 



242 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1793 

in the morning. A few rays of the dawning day 
struggled through the bars of her prison window, 
and she seemed to smile with a faint expression of 
pleasure at the thought that her last day of earthly 
woe had dawned. She called for pen and ink, and 
wrote a very affecting letter to her sister and chil- 
dren. Having finished the letter, she repeatedly and 
passionately kissed it, as if it were the last link which 
bound her to the loved ones from whom she was so 
soon to be separated by death. She then, as if done 
with earth, kneeled down and prayed, and with a 
tranquillized spirit, threw herself upon her bed, and 
fell into a profound slumber. 

An hour or two passed away, when the kind 
daughter of the jailer came, with weeping eyes and a 
throbbing heart, into the cell to dress the queen for 
the guillotine. It was the 14th of October, 1793. 
Maria Antoinette arose with alacrity, and, laying aside 
her prison-worn garments of mourning, put on her 
only remaining dress, a white robe, emblematic of the 
joy with which she bade adieu to earth. A white 
handkerchief was spread over her shoulders, and a 
white cap, bound to her head by a black ribbon, cov- 
ered her hair. It was a cold and foggy morning, and 
the moaning wind drove clouds of mist through the 
streets. But the day had hardly dawned before 
crowds of people thronged the prison, and all Paris 
seemed in motion to enjoy the spectacle of the suf- 



1793] TRIAL AND EXECUTION 243 

ferings of their queen. At eleven o'clock the execu- 
tioners entered her cell, bound her hands behind her, 
and led her out from the prison. The queen had 
nerved her heart to die in the spirit of defiance to 
her foes. She thought, perhaps, too much of man, 
too little of God. Queenly pride rather than Christian 
resignation inspired her soul. Expecting to be con- 
ducted to the scaffold, as the king had been, in a 
close carriage, she, for a moment, recoiled with horror 
when she was led to the ignominious car of the con- 
demned, and was commanded to enter it. This car 
was much like a common hay cart, entirely open, 
and guarded by a rude but strong railing. The fe- 
male furies who surrounded her shouted with laugh- 
ter, and cried out incessantly, " Down with the Aus- 
trian!" "Down with the Austrian!" The queen 
was alone in the cart. Her hands were tied behind 
her. She could not sit down. She could not sup- 
port herself against the jolting of the cart upon the 
rough pavement. The car started. The queen was 
thrown from her equilibrium. She fell this way and 
that way. Her bonnet was crowded over her eyes. 
Her gray locks floated in the damp morning air. Her 
coarse dress, disarranged, excited derision. As she 
was violently pitched to and fro, notwithstanding her 
desperate endeavors to retain the dignity of her ap- 
pearance, the wretches shouted, "These are not your 
cushions of Trianon," It was a long ride, through 



244 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1793 

the infuriated mob, to the scaffold, which was reared 
directly in front of the garden of the Tuileries. 

As the car arrived at the entrance of the gardens 
of the palace where Maria had passed through so 
many vicissitudes of j.oy and woe, it stopped for a 
moment, apparently that the queen might experience 
a few more emotions of torture as she contemplated 
the abode of her past grandeur. Maria leaned back 
upon the railing, utterly regardless of the clamor 
around her, and fixed her eyes long and steadfastly 
upon the theater of all her former happiness. The 
thought of her husband, her children, her home, for a 
moment overcame her, and a few tears trickled down 
her cheeks and fell upon the floor of the cart. But, 
instantly regaining her composure, she looked around 
again upon the multitude, waving hke an ocean over 
the whole amphitheater, with an air of majesty ex- 
pressive of her superiority over all earthly ills. A 
few turns more of the wheels brought her to the 
foot of the guillotine. It was upon the same spot 
where her husband had fallen. She calmly, firmly 
looked at the dreadful instrument of death, scrutiniz- 
ing all its arrangements, and contemplating, almost 
with an air of satisfaction, the sharp and glittering 
knife, which was so soon to terminate all her earthly 
sufferings. Two of the executioners assisted her by 
the elbows as she endeavored to descend from the 
cart. She waited for no directions, but with a firm 



1793] TRIAL AND EXECUTION 245 

and yet not hurried tread, ascended the steps of the 
scaffold. By accident, she trod upon the foot of one 
of the executioners. "Pardon me!" she exclaimed, 
with all the affability and grace with which she 
would have apologized to a courtier in the midst of 
the social festivities of the Little Trianon. She kneeled 
down, raised her eyes to heaven, and in a low but 
heart-rending prayer, all forgetful of herself, implored 
God to protect her sister and her helpless children. 
She was deaf to the clamor of the infuriate mob 
around her. She was insensible to the dishonor of 
her own appearance, with disheveled locks blinding 
her eyes, and with her faded garments crumpled and 
disarranged by the rough jostling of the cart. She 
forgot the scaffold on which she stood, the cords 
which bound her hands, the blood-thirsty execution- 
ers by her side, the fatal knife gleaming above her 
head. Her thoughts, true to the irrepressible instincts 
of maternal love, wandered back to the dungeons 
from whence she had emerged, and lingered with 
anguish around the pallets where her orphan, friend- 
less, persecuted children were entombed. Her last 
prayer was the prayer of agony. She rose from her 
knees, and, turning her eyes toward the tower of the 
Temple, and speaking in tones which would have 
pierced any hearts but those which surrounded her, 
exclaimed, "Adieu! adieu! once again, my dear chil- 
dren. I go to rejoin your father." 



246 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1793 

She was bound to the plank. Slowly it descended 
till the neck of the queen was brought under the 
groove down which the fatal ax was to glide. The 
executioner, hardened by deeds of daily butchery, 
could not look upon this spectacle of the misery of 
the Queen of France unmoved. His hand trembled 
as he endeavored to disengage the ax, and there was 
a moment's delay. The ax fell. The dissevered head 
dropped into the basket placed to receive it. The 
executioner seized it by the hair, gushing with blood, 
raised it high above his head, and walked around the 
elevated platform of the guillotine, exhibiting the 
bloody trophy to the assembled multitude. One long 
shout of "Vive la Republique!" rent the air, and the 
long and dreadful tragedy of the life of Maria Antoi- 
nette was closed. 

The remains of the queen were thrown into a 
pine coffin and hurried to an obscure burial. Upon 
the records of the Church of La Madeleine we now 
read the charge, "For the coffin of the Widow Capet, 
seven francs. 




CHAPTER XII. 

The Princess Elizabeth, the Dauphin, and the 
Princess Royal. 

The dauphin and the princesses. — Painful uncertainty. — Sufferings of the 
princesses.— Their dismal cell. — Painful thoughts. — Unwelcome visitors. 
— The princesses separated. — Brutality of the soldiers. — Elizabeth taken 
before the tribunal. — A group of noble captives. — Trial of Madame 
Elizabeth. — Her condemnation.— Sad reverses. — Character of Madame 
Elizabeth. — Madame Elizabeth at the guillotine. — Execution of her 
companions. — Death of Madame Elizabeth.— Her faith and piety. — 
Situation of the dauphin. — The brute Simon. — Inhuman treatment of 
the dauphin. — He becomes insane. — The reaction. — Change in the 
dauphin's treatment. — Death of the dauphin. — Sympathy awakened by 
it.— Situation of the princess royal.— Her deep sufferings. — Sympathy 
for the princess royal.— She is released. — Arrival of the princess royal in 
Vienna.— Her settled melancholy.— I^ove felt for Maria. — She recovers 
her cheerfulness. — Maria's marriage. — Her present residence. — Ad- 
vanced age of Maria.— Still retains traces of her early sorrows. 

When Maria Antoinette was taken from the 
Temple and consigned to the dungeons 
of the Conciergerie, there to await her 
trial for her life, the dauphin was imprisoned by him- 
self, though but a child seven years of age, in a 
gloomy cell, where he was entirely excluded from 
any communication with his aunt and sister. The 
two latter princesses remained in the room from 
which the queen had been taken. They were, how- 
ever, in the most painful uncertainty respecting her 

(247) 



248 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1793 

fate. Their jailers were commanded to give them no 
information whatever respecting the external world. 
Their prison was a living tomb, in which they were 
allowed to breathe, and that was all. The Princess 
Elizabeth had surmised, from various little incidents, 
what had been the fate of the queen, but she tried 
to cheer the young, and affectionate, and still beauti- 
ful child with the hope that her mother yet hved, 
and that they might meet again. Eight months of 
the most dreary captivity rolled slowly away. It was 
winter, and yet they were allowed no fire to dispel 
the gloom and the chill of their cell. They were de- 
prived of all books. They were not allowed the use 
of pens or paper. The long winter nights came. In 
their cell there was but a few hours during which 
the rays of the sun struggled faintly through the 
barred windows. Night, long, dismal, impenetrable, 
like that of Egypt, enveloped them for fifteen hours. 
They counted the strokes of the clocks in the distant 
churches. They listened to the hum of the vast and 
mighty metropolis, like the roar of the surf upon the 
shore. Reflections full of horror crowded upon them. 
The king was beheaded. The queen was, they 
knew not where, either dead or in the endurance of 
the most fearful sufferings. The young dauphin was 
imprisoned by himself, and they knew only that the 
gentle, affectionate, idolized child was exposed to 
every cruelty which barbarism could inflict upon him. 



1793] THE ROYAL PRINCESSES 249 

What was to be their own fate? Were they to 
linger out the remnant of their days in this wretched 
captivity ? Would their inhuman jailers envy them 
the consolation they found in each other's arms, and 
separate them ? Were they also to perish upon the 
guillotine, where nearly all whom they had loved had 
already perished ? Were they ever to be released ? 
if so what joy could there remain on earth for them 
after their awful sufferings and bereavements! Woes, 
such as they had endured, were too deep ever to be 
effaced from the mind. Nearly eight months thus 
lingered slowly along, in which they saw only brutal 
and insulting jailers, ate the coarsest food, and were 
clothed in the unwashed and tattered garb of the 
prison. Time seemed to have stopped its flight, and 
to have changed into a weary, woeful eternity. 

On the 9th of May, the Princess Elizabeth and her 
niece, who had received the name of Maria Theresa in 
memory of her grandmother, were retiring to bed. 
They were enveloped in midnight darkness. With 
their arms around each other's necks, they were 
kneeling at the foot of the bed in prayer. Suddenly 
a great noise was heard at the door, accompanied 
with repeated and violent blows, almost heavy enough 
to shiver the door from its hinges. Madame Elizabeth 
hastened to withdraw a bolt, which constituted an 
inner fastening, when some soldiers rushed in with 
their lanterns, and said to Madame Elizabeth, "You 



250 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1793 

must immediately follow us." "And my niece," re- 
plied the princess, ever forgetful of herself in her 
thoughtfulness for others, "can she go too?" 
"We want you only now!" was the answer; "we 
will take care of her by-and-by." The aunt fore- 
saw that the hour for the long-dreaded sepa- 
ration had come. She threw her arms around the 
neck of the trembling maiden, and wept in uncon- 
trollable grief. The brutal soldiers, unmoved by these 
tears, loaded them both with reproaches and insults, 
as belonging to the detested race of kings, and im- 
periously commanded the Princess Elizabeth immedi- 
ately to depart. She endeavored to whisper a word 
of hope into the ear of her despairing niece. "1 shall 
probably soon return again, my dear Maria." "No 
citoyenne, you won't," rudely interrupted one of the 
jailers; "you will never ascend these stairs again. 
So take your bonnet and come down." Bathing the 
face of the young girl with her tears, invoking the 
blessing of heaven upon her, turning again and again 
to infold her in a last embrace, she was led out by 
the soldiers, and conducted down the dark and damp 
stairs to the gate. Here the soldiers rudely searched 
her person anew, and then thrust her into a carriage. 
It was midnight. The carriage was driven violently 
through the deserted streets to the Conciergerie. The 
Tribunal was, even at that hour, in session, for in 
those days of blood, when the slide of the guillotine 



1793] THE ROYAL PRINCESSES 251 

had no repose from morning till night, the day did 
not contain hours enough for the work of condemna- 
tion. The princess was conducted immediately into 
the presence of the Revolutionary Tribunal. A few 
questions were asked her, and then she was led into 
a hall, and left to catch such repose as she could 
upon the bench where Maria Antoinette but a few 
months before had awaited her condemnation. 

The morning had hardly dawned when she was 
again conducted to the Tribunal, in company with 
twenty-four others, of every age and of both sexes, 
whose crime was that they were nobles. Ladies 
were there, illustrious in virtue and rank, who had 
formerly graced the brilliant assemblies of the Tuileries 
and of Versailles. Young men, whose family names 
had been renowned for ages, stood there to answer 
for the crime of possessing a distinguished name. 
While looking upon this group of nobles, gathered 
before that merciless tribunal, where judgment was 
almost certain condemnation, the public accuser, 
with cruel irony remarked, '"Of what can Madame 
EHzabeth complain, when she sees herself at the foot 
of the guillotine, surrounded by her faithful nobility ? 
She can now fancy herself back again in the gay 
festivities of Versailles." 

The charges against Elizabeth were, that she was 
the sister of a tyrant, and that she loved that royal 
family whom the nation had adjudged not fit to live. 



2S2 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1793 

"If my brother had been the tyrant you declare him 
to have been," the princess remarked, "you would 
not be where you now are, nor I before you." But 
it is vain for the lamb to plead with the wolf. She 
was condemned to die. She listened to her sentence 
with the most perfect composure, and almost with 
satisfaction. The only favor she asked was, that she 
might see a priest, and receive the consolations of re- 
ligion, according to the faith she professed. Even 
this request was denied her. The crime of loyalty 
was of too deep a dye to allow of any, the slightest, 
mitigation of punishment. From the judgment hall 
she was led down into one of the dungeons of the 
Conciergerie, where, with the rest of her companions, 
she awaited the execution of their doom. It was, in- 
deed, a melancholy meeting. These illustrious cap- 
tives had formerly dwelt in the highest splendor which 
earth allows. They had met in regal palaces, sur- 
rounded by all the pomp and grandeur of courts. 
Now, after months of the most cruel imprisonment, 
after passing through scenes of the most protracted 
woe, having been deprived of all their possessions, of 
all their ancestral honors, having surrendered one after 
another of those most dear to them to the guillotine, 
they were collected in a dark and foul dungeon, cold 
and wet, hungry and exhausted, to be conveyed in a 
few hours, in the cart of the condemned, to the 
scaffold. The character of Elizabeth was such, her 



1793] THE ROYAL PRINCESSES 2S3 

weanedness from the world, her mild and heavenly 
spirit, as to have secured almost the idolatrous ven- 
eration of those who knew her. The companions of 
her misfortunes now clustered around her, as the one 
to whom they must look for support and strength in 
this awful hour. The princess, more calm and peace- 
ful even than when surrounded by all the splendors 
of royalty, looked forward joyfully to the guillotine as 
the couch of sweet and lasting repose. Faith enabled 
her to leave the children, now the only tie which 
bound her to earth, in the hands of God, and, con- 
scious that she had done with all things earthly, her 
thoughts were directed to those mansions of rest 
which, she doubted not, were in reserve for her. 
She bowed her head with a smile to the executioner 
as he cut off her long tresses in preparation for the 
knife. The locks fell at her feet, and even the ex- 
ecutioners divided them among them as memorials of 
her loveliness and virtue. 

Her hands were bound behind her, and she was 
placed in the cart with twenty-two companions of 
noble birth, and she was doomed to wait at the foot 
of the scaffold till all those heads had fallen, before 
her turn could come. The youth, the beauty, the in- 
nocence, the spotless life of the princess seemed to 
disarm the populace of their rage, and they gazed 
upon her in silence and almost with admiration. Her 



254 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1793 

name had ever been connected with every thing that 
was pure and kind. And even a feehng of remorse 
seemed to pervade the concourse surrounding the 
scaffold in view of the sacrifice of so blameless a 
victim. 

One by one, as the condemned ascended the steps 
of the guillotine to submit to the dreadful execution, 
they approached Elizabeth and encircled her in an 
affectionate embrace. At last every head had fallen 
beneath the ax but that of Elizabeth. The mutilated 
bodies were before her. The gory heads of those 
she loved were in a pile by her side. It was a sight 
to shock the stoutest nerves. But the princess, sus- 
tained by that Christian faith which had supported her 
through her almost unparalleled woes, apparently with- 
out a tremor ascended the steps, looked calmly and be- 
nignantly around upon the vast multitude, as if in her 
heart she was imploring God's blessing upon them, 
and surrendered herself to the executioner. Probably 
not a purer spirit nor one more attuned for heaven 
existed in France than the one which then ascended 
from the scaffold, we trust, to the bosom of God. 
Maria Antoinette died with the pride and the firmness 
of the invincible queen. Elizabeth yielded herself to 
the spirit of submissive piety, and fell asleep upon 
the bosom of her Savior. Our thoughts would more 
willingly follow her to those mansions of rest, where 



1793] THE ROYAL PRINCESSES 2SS 

faith instructs us that she winged her flight, than turn 
again to the prison where the orphan children lingered 
in solitude and woe. 

Young Louis was left in one of the apartments of 
the Temple, under the care of the brutal Simon, 
whose commission it was to get quit of him. To 
send a child of seven years of age to the guillotine 
because his father was a king, was a step which the 
Revolutionary Tribunal then was hardly willing to 
take, out of regard to the opinions of the world. It 
would be hardly consistent with the character of the 
great nation to poison the child; and yet, while he 
lived, there was a rallying point around which the 
sympathies of royalty could congregate. Louis must 
die! Simon must not kill him; he must not poison 
him; he must get quit of him. The public safety de- 
mands it. Patriotism demands it. In the accom- 
plishment of this undertaking, the young prince was 
shut up alone, entirely alone, like a caged beast, in 
one of the upper rooms of a tower of the Temple. 
There he was left, day and night, week after week, 
and month after month, with no companion, with no 
employment, with no food for thought, with no op- 
portunity for exercise or to breathe the fresh air. A 
flagon of water, seldom replenished, was placed at 
his bedside. The door was occasionally half opened, 
and some coarse food thrown in to the poor child. 
He never washed himself For more than a year, his 



256 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1795 

clothes, his shirt, and his shoes had never been 
changed. For six months his bed was not made, and 
the unhappy child, consigned to this living burial, re- 
mained silent and immovable upon the impure pallet, 
breathing his ow^n infection. By long inactivity his 
hmbs became rigid. His mind, by the dead inaction 
which succeeded terror, lost its energy, and became, 
not only brutalized, but depraved. The noble child 
of warm affections, polished manners, and active in- 
tellect, was thus degraded far below the ordinary 
condition of the brute. 

Thus eighteen months rolled away, and the poor 
boy became insane through mental exhaustion and 
debility. But even then he retained a Hvely sense of 
gratitude for every word or act of kindness. At one 
time, the inhuman wretch who was endeavoring by 
slow torture to conduct this child to the grave, seized 
him by the hair, and threatened to dash out his 
brains against the wall. A surgeon, M. Naulin, who 
chanced to be near by, interfered in behalf of the un- 
happy victim, and rescued him from the rage of the 
tyrant. Two pears that evening were given to the 
half-famished child for his supper. He hid them un- 
der his pillow, and went supperless to sleep. The 
next day he presented the two pears to his benefac- 
tor, very politely expressing his regret that he had no 
other means of manifesting his gratitude. 

Torrents of blood were daily flowing from the 



1795] THE ROYAL PRINCESSES 257 

guillotine. Illustrious wealth, or rank, or virtue, con- 
demned the possessor to the scafToid, Terror held its 
reign in every bosom. No one was safe. The pub- 
lic became weary of these scenes of horror. A re- 
action commenced. Many of the firmest Republicans, 
overawed by the tyranny of the mob, began secretly 
to long for the repose which kingly power had given 
the nation. Sympathy was excited for the woes of 
the imprisoned prince. It is difficult to record, with- 
out pleasure, that one of the first acts of this return- 
ing sense of humanity consisted in leading the bar- 
barous Simon to the guillotine. History does not 
inform us whether he shuddered in view of his crimes 
under the ax. But his crimes were almost too great 
for humanity to forgive. Louis was placed under the 
care of more merciful keepers. His wasted frame and 
delirious mind, generous and affectionate even in its 
delirium, moved their sympathy and their tears. They 
washed and dressed their little prisoner; spake to him 
in tones of kindness; soothed and comforted him. 
Louis gazed upon them with a vacant air, hardly 
knowing, after more than two years of hatred, exe- 
cration, and abuse, what to make of expressions of 
gentleness and mercy. But it was too late. Simon 
had faithfully executed his task. The constitution of 
the young prince was hopelessly undermined. He 
was seized with a fever. The Convention, ashamed 
of the past, sent the celebrated physician Desault to 

M. ofH.-i-i-' 



258 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1795 

visit him. The patient, inured to suffering, with 
blighted hopes and a crushed heart, lingered in silence 
and patience for a few days upon his bed, and died 
on the 8th of June, 1795, in the tenth year of his age. 

The change which had commenced in the public 
mind, preparing the way for Napoleon to quell these 
revolutionary horrors, was so great, that a very gen- 
eral feeling of sympathy was awakened by the death 
of the young prince, and a feeling of remorse per- 
vaded the conscience of the nation. History contains 
few stories more sorrowful than the death of this 
child. To the Umited vision of mortals, it is indeed 
inexplicable why he should have been left by that 
God, who rules in infinite wisdom and love, to so 
dreadful a fate. For the solution of this and all other 
inexplicable mysteries of the divine government, we 
must look forward to our immortality. 

But we must return to Maria Theresa. We left 
her at midnight, delirious with grief and terror, upon 
the pallet of her cell, her aunt having just been torn 
from her embrace. Even the ravages of captivity had 
not destroyed the exceeding beauty of the princess, 
now sixteen years of age. The slow hours of that 
night of anguish lingered away, and the morning, 
cheerless and companionless, dawned through the 
grated window of her prison upon her woe. Thus 
days and nights went and came. She knew not 
what had been the fate of her mother. She knew 



1795] THE ROYAL PRINCESSES 259 

not what doom awaited her aunt. She could have 
no intercourse with her brother, who she only knew 
was suffering every conceivable outrage in another 
part of the prison. Her food was brought to her by 
those who loved to show their brutal power over the 
daughter of a long line of kings. Weeks and months 
thus rolled on without any alleviation, without the 
slightest gleam of joy or hope penetrating the mid- 
night gloom of her cell. It is impossible for the 
imagination to paint the anguish endured by this 
beautiful, intellectual, affectionate, and highly-accom- 
plished princess during these weary months of soli- 
tude and captivity. Every indulgence was withheld 
from her, and conscious existence became the most 
weighty woe. Thus a year and a half lingered slowly 
away, while the reign of terror was holding its high 
carnival in the streets of blood-deluged Paris, and 
every friend of royalty, of whatever sex or age, all 
over the empire, was hunted down without mercy. 

When the reaction awakened by these horrors 
commenced in the public mind, the rigor of her 
captivity was somewhat abated. The death of her 
brother roused in her behalf, as the only remaining 
child of the wrecked and ruined family, such a feel- 
ing of sympathy, that the Assembly consented to re- 
gard her as a prisoner of war, and to exchange her 
with the Austrian government for four French officers 
whom they held as prisoners. Maria Theresa was 



26o MARIA ANTOINETTE [1795 

led, pale, pensive, heart-broken, hopeless, from her 
cell, and placed in the hands of the relatives of her 
mother. But her griefs had been so deep, her be- 
reavements so utter and heart-rending, that this 
change seemed to her only a mitigation of misery, 
and not an accession of joy. She was informed of 
the death of her mother and her aunt, and weeping 
over her desolation, she emerged from her prison cell 
and entered the carriage to return to the palaces of 
Austria, where her unhappy mother had passed the 
hours of her childhood. As she rode along through 
the green fields and looked out upon the blue sky, 
through which the summer's sun was shedding its 
beams, as she felt the pure air, from which she had 
so long been excluded, fanning her cheeks, and real- 
ized that she was safe from insults and once more 
free, anguish gave place to a calm and settled melan- 
choly. She arrived in Vienna. Love and admiration 
encircled her. Every heart vied in endeavors to lav- 
ish soothing words and delicate attentions upon this 
stricken child of grief. She buried her face in the 
bosoms of those thus soliciting her love, her eyes 
were flooded with tears, and she sobbed with almost 
a bursting heart. After her arrival in Vienna, one 
full year passed away before a smile could ever be 
won to visit her cheek. Woes such as she had en- 
dured pass not away like the mists of the morning. 
The hideous dream haunted her by day and by night. 



1795] THE ROYAL PRINCESSES 261 

The headless trunks of her father, her mother, and 
her aunt were ever before her eyes. Her beloved 
brother, suffering and dying upon a beggar's bed, 
was ever present in her dreams while reposing under 
the imperial canopy of the Austrian kings. The past 
had been so long and so awful that it seemed an 
ever-living reality. The sudden change she could 
hardly credit but as the delirium of a dream. 

Time, however, will diminish the poignancy of 
every sorrow save those of remorse. Maria was now 
again in a regal palace, surrounded with every luxury 
which earth could confer. She was young and beau- 
tiful. She was beloved and almost adored. Every 
monarch, every prince, every embassador from a 
foreign court, delighted to pay her especial honor. 
No heart throbbed near her but with the desire to 
render her some compensation for the wrongs and the 
woes which had fallen upon her youthful and guile- 
less heart. Wherever she appeared she was greeted 
with love and homage. Those who had never seen 
her would willingly peril their lives in any way to 
serve her. Thus was she raised to consideration, and 
enshrined in the affections of every soul retaining one 
spark of noble feeling. The past receded farther and 
farther from her view, the present arose more and 
more vividly before the eye. Joy gradually re- 
turned to that bosom from which it had so long been 
a stranger. The flowers bloomed beautifully before 



262 MARIA ANTOINETTE [1795 

her eyes, the birds sung melodiously in her ears. 
The fair face of creation, with mountain, vale, and 
river, beguiled her thoughts, and introduced images 
of peace and beauty to dispel the hideous phantoms 
of dungeons and misery. The morning drive around 
the beautiful metropolis; the evening serenade; the 
moonlight sail; and above all, the voice of love, rean- 
imated her heart, and roused her affections from the 
tomb in which they so long had slumbered. The 
smile of youth, though still pensive and melancholy, 
began to illumine her saddened features. Hope of 
future joy rose to cheer her. The Due d'Angouleme, 
son of Charles X., sought her as his bride, and she 
was led in tranquil happiness to the altar, feeling as 
few can feel the luxury of being tenderly beloved. 

Upon the fall of Napoleon she returned to France 
with the Bourbon family, and again moved, with 
smiles of sadness, among the brilliant throng crowd- 
ing the palaces of her ancestors. The Revolution of 
1830, which drove the Bourbons again from the throne 
of France, droVe Maria Theresa, now Duchesse 
d'Angouleme, again into exile. For a time she and 
her husband lived in the Castle of Holyrood, in Scot- 
land, under the name of the Count and Countess of 
Marne; but the climate being too severe for her con- 
stitution, she left that region for Vienna. There she 
was received with every possible demonstration of 
respect and affection. She resided in the imperial 



1851] THE ROYAL PRINCESSES 263 

castle of Frohsdorf a venerated widow, having passed 
througii three-score years and ten of a more varied 
life than is often experienced by mortals. Even to 
the hour of her death, her furrowed cheeks retained 
the traces, in their pensive expression, of the sorrow 
which darkened her early years. 



THE END. 




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